


Joy and Humility

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Meeting the Parents, Solas is going to have a heartattack, the parents encounter the companions too and chaos ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scarlet Lavellan's parents decide to visit Skyhold and finally meet Solas.</p><p>Mama Lavellan is thrilled. Papa Lavellan is not exactly amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Skyhold is unlike anything they have ever seen. It doesn’t resemble the human strongholds or the Elvhen ruins they would see during their travels.

Dalish banners and the flags of the Inquisition that have become famous in the Free Marches too flap and move in the wind; people of all kind and race scurry around, paying them no mind; there are merchant booths in the courtyard, selling stuff that Dalish clans can see only in special occasions of the year or after stealing it from the humans.

There are many elves too, all armed, all dressed in simple, but effective clothes. Much to their surprise, the majority of the servants and maids they see around are human.

“ _Vhenan_.” the petite elven woman murmurs, squeezing her husband’s hand. The look on her face is a mix between bewilderment and apprehension. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“This is the only Inquisition in Thedas. I doubt there are others.” the tall man at her side replies. Even if his mouth is set in a tight, thin line and his brow is furrowed, giving him a somewhat grim and fearful look, his gruff voice is actually kind.

“I didn’t imagine the Inquisition to be so… so _big_.” the woman shakes her head, disbelieving, as a group of scouts marches in front of them, led by an elf who is clearly in command. She observes the tents at the other side of the courtyard: wounded soldiers and refugees are there, but she saw a sturdy human woman help some of them get up, mentioning an infirmary.

On the stairs leading to the upper level of the garden, they see messengers talking and exchanging letters, quick on their feet, fast with their words.

Everyone is wearing the symbol of the Inquisition.

Everyone is serving their daughter.

“Well, it sounded different on paper.” the elven man mumbles, moving aside to let a cart full of food pass. “Although we already started seeing its influence in the Free Marches too.”

“Oh, look, Athim! That’s a hart, a hart!” his wife exclaims, her initial bashfulness already gone, replaced by a childlike enthusiasm. She drags him to the stable visible from the gates, ignoring his complaints and hushing him with playful swats on his arm and giggles.

“I never saw one so close!” she sighs when they finally approach the beautiful animal. It’s standing out of its stall, munching hay that has been thrown on the ground. She lets out an awed ‘ohhh’, her mouth forming a cute ‘o’, and reaches out for it.

“Careful, Nehn.” his husband grumbles, eyeing the creature with wariness mixed with respect and admiration. “He may not like being touched by a stranger.”

“It’s alright, he’s a good fellow.” a voice says and the couple jumps back. A middle-aged human appears from behind the tall beast, a large brush in his hand. He shoots them a polite smile.

“This is the Inquisitor’s Red Hart. Nice, loyal creature. You can touch him if you want.”

“This is…?” Athim looks at the hart differently now, his golden eyes wide and full of surprise. Next to him, Nehn gasps and brings her hands to her round face.

“Scarlet’s hart? My child has a hart?”

“Child?” the horsemaster frowns, confused, not used to hear the Inquisitor being called by her name and not her title. Then it hits him and he mumbles a bad curse under his breath, scrambling to get in front of the couple to greet them decently.

“Forgive me, I…” he brushes hart hairs and hay off of his clothes and awkwardly offers his hand. “I’m Dennet, horsemaster of the Inquisition. It’s a pleasure to meet the Inquisitor’s parents.”

He bows his head respectfully, not realizing that the two Dalish in front of him are not used to receive this kind treatment from a human.

Athim hesitates, flustered and embarrassed; Nehn is the one who takes the initiative and breaks the ice. She takes the man’s hand and shakes it, a toothy smile on her face which twists her vallaslin of Mythal.

“So are you here to visit?” Dennet asks, offering his hand to Athim too. He slowly takes it, although the scowl on his face doesn’t go away. The horsemaster doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes! We received her letter and she told us so many things about this place and her friends, so we wanted to make sure everything was alright, we haven’t see her for _so long_ and we brought some gifts too and…”

“Nehn…”

She takes a deep breath, but doesn’t stop talking. In fact, she continues with more energy than before, her chubby face flushed pink, her hair sticking to all directions, a disorganized explosion of red and gray tufts.

“I know she has much to do, but we never expected this! The Inquisition has reached the Free Marches too, but it’s more influential in Orlais and Ferelden, isn’t it? Orlais, Athim, Orlais!” she turns to her husband, who, for the first time since they are there, cracks a smile. “Don’t mind him, he looks grumpy, but he is actually a softie and I am sure he will cry like a baby once we find our _da’len_.”

“Nehn…”

“Is she in good health? Does she eat?” the short, energetic elven woman suddenly gets serious, worry in her hazel eyes. “Does she get injured a lot? She doesn’t say in her letters.”

Dennet, who has been silent for the whole time, too invested by the stream of words to react, blinks and babbles a reply, which doesn’t satisfy the anxious mother and makes her sigh.

“Oh, I am sure she is reckless and jumps straight into battle! She would always do that when she went to hunt with the others.”

“She goes with her friends, though, right?” Athim asks, narrowing his eyes. “I am sure that _Solas_ keeps her safe.”

Dennet doesn’t miss the venom in his voice and desperately tries to find a way to change topic. He can talk about anything _but_ this. He doesn’t have the strength to discuss the Inquisitor’s love life with her parents.

Just then, two saviors come to his aid: Cole and Blackwall, each carrying a box of apples and carrots for the horses and mounts. They don’t stop when they see the new guests, used to the refugees and merchants that punctually visits Skyhold every day, but Cole’s face light up under his large hat and he smiles.

“Hello!” he says cheerfully and Nehn returns his smile, before realization hits her.

“Oh! Oh, I know who you are! Just a moment, please…”

She rummages into her old leather bag and Athim helps her keep it open, patiently waiting for her to find what she needs while studying attentively the two humans.

Blackwall exchanges a look with Dennet, perplexed, but doesn’t understand what he is trying to tell him. So he steps in, putting his box down and nodding at the elven man. He nods back, silent like a statue.

“Oh, here it is! Let me see, let me see…” Nehn turns the pages of a rather long letter, repeating the words she reads under her breath, following them with her index finger, then she beams at Cole and exclaims: “You are Cole! Scarlet’s spirit friend!”

“Yes.” the boy’s smile is so bright it could illuminate an entire city. “And you are her mother, kind-hearted like she is, bringing joy to those around you.” He turns to Athim, who is staring at him, tense and rigid: “You are her father. Fair and just, you let humility guide you.”

Athim doesn’t respond, his vallaslin of June shifting as his frown deepens. He is blushing and his wife chuckles, patting his hand.

“There, there, _vhenan_. There is no need to be embarrassed. This gentle creature was complimenting you.” she turns back to Cole and Blackwall and looks at the latter, examining the letter again. “And you must be… Blackwall? The Grey Warden?”

“Yes, my lady.” he replies, bringing a hand on his chest and bowing without breaking eye contact. His beard moves as he smiles. “It’s an honor to meet you. The Inquisitor always talks about her clan.”

“That’s good to hear.” Athim says and this time he doesn’t hesitate when Blackwall gives him his hand to shake. “I assume you know where we can find her?”

“Well…” Blackwall rubs his neck, sharing a look with Cole. The boy shakes his head and answers for him: “She is everywhere, quick and attentive, helping everyone. She was in the garden inside the walls before, but I don’t know where she is now.”

“You really are a spirit?” Athim asks, eyeing him with disconcert, not sure how to talk to him and what to expect from him. Nehn approaches, curious and not scared at all, and raises his head with a motherly touch, staring into his blue eyes partially covered by his long hair.

“Oh, why does it matter?” she scolds her husband, who grunts. “Look how kind his eyes are! Scarlet said he is a dear friend. Our daughter is old enough to understand which people she should trust, right?”

“She really said that?” Cole gasps, his big smile returning, and Nehn giggles, fixing his hair and hat.

“She did. Our Keeper was very worried at first, but we trust Scarlet’s judgement. If she says you are her dear friend and mean no harm, then we believe her.”

“Also Compassion is rare in these times.” Athim concedes, his frown constantly etched on his rough face. He looks at Blackwall, who instinctively straightens his back. “And a Grey Warden who fights for the weak is a precious ally too.”

“I… Thank you, messer.”

“You look like her.” Cole murmurs, staring at the elven woman with dreamy eyes. “Red hair and big eyes. But their color is wrong. Her father’s is right.”

“Families work like that, boy.” Athim comments dryly, although one corner of his lips curl upwards with amicable fondness. “She has my nose too, but her mother’s lips.”

“That’s beautiful.” the boy agrees, his smile content. “I like your family.”

It’s clear Nehn would stay there more to talk with the spirit, her carefree attitude often distracted by the people around her. So her husband intervenes before she can start asking Cole more questions or fret over him like he is her son too.

He reminds her why they are there in the first place and she gasps, frantically fixing her bag and shoving the letter into it to be ready to move again. The two humans and the spirit give them directions to reach the upper level of the courtyard, where the entrance to the stronghold is, and then they are off.

Nehn turns around one last time to wave at the three men, even shouting a “We will see you later, hopefully!”, then proceeds to admire the fortress with new eyes, intimidated by it and the people in it no more.

“Oh, _vhenan_ , look, is that a tavern? _Inside_ the walls?”

“Looks like it.” is her husband’s practical answer. They stop, confused by a strange figure that has just opened the door with a booming laughter. It’s a giant man with grey skin, an eyepatch on the left side of his face, horns on his head.

“ _Ohhhh_!” Nehn bounces on her feet and brings her hands to her face again, not noticing that she is already holding Athim’s, who doesn’t let her go and lets the back of his hand thump against her cheek.

“That’s a Qunari, _vhenan_! He must be the mercenary Scarlet mentioned in her letter!”

“Why is he patting that poor man’s back so fiercely?” Athim mumbles, humming pensively when the Qunari bursts into another laughter and dodges easily the soldier’s hands.

“Hah, I can see your moves even without one eye, Krem!”

“Stop moving, chief, or I swear I’m gonna kick that fat ass of yours!”

“Nehn, perhaps we should leave them be…” Athim whispers, then realizes he isn’t holding his wife’s hand anymore. In fact, she isn’t there at all, but walking over to the Qunari and his friend with quick strides, her patched elven dress fluttering in the wind.

“N-Nehn!”

He runs to her just as she reaches the two men; they immediately stop bickering and the human tries to compose himself, despite his disheveled hair.

“Good morning. New refugee?” he asks with a kind smile, which turns into surprise when the elven woman shakes her head and says: “You are one of the Bull’s Chargers, correct?”

“Oh?” Krem glances at Bull, taken aback, but flattered at the same time. “Yes, ma’am. I am lieutenant Krem.”

“Nice to meet you, Krem!” She turns to Bull, hands on her hips. “So I was right! You must be The Iron Bull!”

She searches for her husband with her hand without even looking, immediately finding him and pulling him closer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, The Iron Bull! Our daughter told us much about you!”

“Mh.” Athim quirks one eyebrow, without hiding his surprise. “You are very tall.”

“Your… daughter?” Krem looks worried, while Bull’s eye widen and his chest swells with pride and satisfaction. There is a broad smile on his lips which matches Nehn’s equally radiant grin.

“She said ‘ _the_ ’. _The_ Iron Bull. She used my full name, Krem.” he murmurs, nearly on the verge of tears, and Krem does his best to ignore that last detail.

“Chief!” he hisses, glaring at him. “What did you do?? What daughter are they talking about?”

“ _Their_ daughter, Krem. Clean those ears once in a while!”

“I heard that! But why would a woman’s _parents_ have heard about you from her in the first place?”

“Hey!” Bull pouts and folds his arms on his massive, bare chest. “That’s rude! Totally uncalled for! Of course she would talk about me to her… _oh_.”

His face falls and he looks scared now, as if he has just seen a demon cackling in front of him.

“Uh… are you here to tell me something I absolutely don’t want to hear?”

“Well, we are in visit.” Nehn replies, puzzled by his sudden change in behavior. “We are here to see our Scarlet.”

She and Athim exchange a look, then she adds, panicking a bit: “Is… is there a problem?”

“Oh! Oh, _shit_!” Bull is grinning again. “You are the boss’ parents!”

“Damn, chief, for a second I thought you were going to take care of a chubby, horned baby!”

“No, we don’t bring that kind of news.” Athim reassures them with his third smile of the day… which disappears instantly when Bull pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

“ _Fenedhis_ …!”

“It’s so nice to meet you! The chief always talks about you, you know?” A pat on his back steals his breath, then Athim is released. He watches in horror as Nehn is pulled into the Qunari’s arms too… only to be held in a gentle, delicate embrace that makes her laugh.

“She mentioned you in her last letter too.” the woman says as she steps back, patting the Qunari’s arm. “She talked about your mercenary job and your wonderful team.”

“Yeah, they are alright.” Bull jokes, yelping when Krem’s foot finds his leg. “Hey, not in front of the boss’ mom!”

“What’s all this noisy shit?” a high-pitched voice shrieks from above.

They all look up at where a series of colored windows is, a room part of the tavern: one of the windows is open and an elven girl with badly cut hair and cookie dough on her nose is scowling down at the group.

“I’m tryin’ to sleep here! Go bring all those laughs and Dalish shit inside the tavern, will ya!”

“A city elf.” Athim murmurs and he returns her scowl without problems, using his many years of expertise on the matter. Sera grunts and squints her eyes to accentuate her own.

“Sera! Say hi to the Inquisitor’s mom and dad!” Bull exclaims, gently pushing the couple under the window so she can see them better.

Her frown goes away as quickly as it came.

“What did ya say?” she babbles, then observes the smiling elven lady and her grumpy husband with her mouth hanging open. “Freaking shit! Where did you come from?”

“So you are Sera.” Athim says, tilting his head. “Red Jenny.”

“Not _the_ Red Jenny.” she corrects him. She will never admit it, but there are two pink spots on her cheeks. “There is no boss. I’m… just one of them.”

“Scarlet wrote about you too.” Nehn intervenes with a kind smile, her tone calm and milder than before. She wants to reassure her, aware of her embarrassment and awkwardness. “She said you are great with your bow and always help the little people.”

“I… yes?” Sera starts pulling the strings of a pillow, face redder than before. “Somebody must do that, right? Her Inquisition helps too.”

“That’s good. We need more people like you in the cities.” Nehn continues and Sera grumbles something, refusing to say more. She throws something heavy at Bull when he starts snickering.

“Shut your mouth, you!”

“I think you broke her, boss’ mom.”

“Shut up!”

Heavy footsteps approach just when Athim is about to say more. A woman stops in front of them, short black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, a sword in her gloved hand. Her expression is stern, but not cold, and her stance isn’t commanding. She looks just curious and a bit annoyed.

“What is all this commotion?” she asks with a thick accent. She looks back and forth from the two unknown elves and confusion appears in her eyes. “Did I meet you somewhere before…?”

“ _Ohhhh_.” Nehn gets closer to her with steady, quick, brief steps. “You are the Seeker!”

Cassandra barely holds back a groan and nods with a heavy sigh.

“Yes, I am Seeker Pentaghast.” It sounds like she repeated those words countless times before. “And you are…?”

“Nehn of clan Lavellan. And this is my husband, Athim of clan Lavellan.” Athim steps beside his wife, who links their arms together and beams at Cassandra.

It takes her only a moment to realize who is standing before her; she drops her sword with a surprised gasp and desperately tries to greet them decently.

“Oh, I… I am sorry! I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t know… You are the Inquisitor’s…!”

“Her parents, yes. And you are one of her companions who helped establish the Inquisition.” Athim’s frown softens a bit. “Scarlet said you are a dear friend.”

“I… I am glad to hear that.” Cassandra wrings and tortures her hands, pulling at her gloves, not to remove them, but to simply have something to touch and twist, blushing ferociously. “She is a great woman, worthy of respect. I admit things were chaotic at first, but…”

“Oh, right! You are the one who detained her!” Nehn exclaims, giggling when the poor human groans and hides her face behind her hand, looking down. “Don’t worry about that! Everything was made clear in the end and look at what happened after that.”

Cassandra still looks like she wants to dig a hole and remain there forever, but she manages to smile and says: “Thank you, my lady.”

“Please, keep taking care of our daughter.” Nehn continues, now serious and worried like the mother she is. “She is very reckless in battle, isn’t she? She is a rogue, but she loves going where most of the fight is.”

“That’s… true.” Cassandra admits, shifting her weight on her feet. “But she is also very competent and knows how to defend herself.”

Both parents smile with pride and start asking more questions about their daughter: does she eat enough? Does the cold weather bother her and make her fall ill easily? Do the other humans treat her badly even if she is so important?

“She is the friggin’ Inquisitor!” Sera shouts from her window. “Only the bad guys and the ones who don’t like her call her ugly names!”

“I assure you there have been no problems with her health either.” Cassandra adds. “The Inquisitor asks for very little and never requests expensive food or clothes, but she is constantly tended to.”

“This is all so beautiful.” Nehn murmurs, looking around with a content, reassured smile. “I never dreamed my child would live such a life, assisted by all these people and living in a… in a true house.”

Bull, Krem, and Cassandra smile at the couple as they admire what her daughter has built in so little time: an organization that willingly follows her order and respects her, an army ready to die for her, friends who love and respect her.

It means so, so much because she is only a young Dalish woman who grew up among aravels and trees, far from the rest of the world, an elf in a world controlled by humans and Chantry zealots.

The pride and joy in her parents’ eyes shine and is visible to anyone. Nehn dries her eyes and asks, voice thick with emotion, where Scarlet is, but Cassandra doesn’t know either.

“The last time I saw her she was in the undercroft.” she mumbles, then suggests the couple to enter the stronghold without hesitation.

“She is probably inside and as soon as she will hear you are here, she will find you.” the Seeker smiles and with that the two parents head to the fortress, making sure to say goodbye to Bull, Krem, and Sera too.

The Qunari hug them again - and Athim is sure at least three bones of his back are broken -, Krem shake their hands, while Sera refuses to get down and hides back in her room, mumbling an excuse about sharpening her arrows.

“I like them! They are kind and they all love our _da’adahl_.” Nehn says as they go up the stairs leading to the main entrance. She helps Athim climb them one step at a time, stopping with him when his leg hurts too much and he needs to rest.

“I am more concerned about this Solas, to be honest. We should have asked information about him.” he grumbles, but calms down and sighs when his wife laughs and strokes his cheek.

“Scarlet spoke highly of him and I trust her decision.” she says. “I am sure he is a wonderful, trustworthy person too.”

“You know how people are when they are in love.” Athim glances up at the balcony above their heads, distracted by a sudden movement there.

There is a woman with dark skin and silver clothes observing the courtyard, a glass in her hand, but then she gets inside and the distraction from his glum thoughts ends.

“And you know how our daughter is, so romantic and kind!” he continues, grimacing as they continue to climb the stairs. “She must be head over heels in love and I want to be sure that man loves her the same way.”

“He does. I am sure he does.” Nehn lets him lean on her, her smile fond, and she kisses him when they reach the final step. “If she loves him so much, there must be good reasons. So stop worrying and give him a chance!”

“Only if he deserves it.” Athim mumbles, but cracks another smile as he hears his wife laugh and she squeezes his hand.

“Don’t be such a grumpy, _vhenan_. You know it doesn’t fit your big heart. Now, where should we go?”

They are in the hall, vast and majestic, its high ceiling and frosted glass windows giving them the impression of being in a temple.

They never stepped into a building like this before - they never stepped into a building in the first place - and the cold stones and rich carpets under their bare feet, the golden pieces of mosaics on the walls, the long tables filled with food and drinks shock and confuse them.

It’s no wonder their daughter always sends boxes of food and herbs to the clan, enchanted so that nothing gets spoiled during the long journey. It’s no wonder she can often send them warm blankets and clothes for the cold nights, better weapons and armors, precious books for Keeper Deshanna.

Nehn has to dry her tears again, because knowing their daughter can live like this, surrounded by good food and warmth every day, melts her mother’s heart.

Athim swallows the lump of happy tears that is growing in his throat and wraps his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

“There, _vhenan_.” he whispers as she sniffles and cries a little. “Calm yourself.”

“You’re right. After all this time, I don’t want her to see me cry.” Nehn rubs her eyes and her smile is punctually back on her lips as she smiles up at her husband.

Someone near them clears his throat and Athim’s scowl returns.

A dwarf with a voluminous chest hair is offering them two mugs with a kind smirk.

“Skyhold is always an impressive sight for everyone who enters it the first time.” he admits, sitting back at his desk in front of a roaring fireplace. “I saw many people stand there where you are, completely awestruck.”

“What is this?” Athim asks, sniffing the drink inside the mug. “Wait, is this ale? I heard about it, but the merchants our clan encountered never sold it.”

“Oh, ale! I always wondered how it was!” Nehn thanks the dwarf with a huge smile, a nod of her head, then takes a sip. She shivers and yelps after swallowing the bubbly, rich-flavored drink.

“Creators, it’s so strong!”

“Heh, it has that effect on people who never drank it before.” the dwarf chuckles when Athim makes a similar face and quietly puts the mug back on the table. “It’s an acquired taste, I guess! But I am sure you would get used to it in no time.”

“I saw you before, messer dwarf.” the elven man says, eyeing him in a manner that could be considered suspicious, but it’s really not. He is just trying to focus and remember, but the dwarf seems a bit worried and even leans back on his chair when the elf walks around the table.

“Of course!” Athim exclaims in the end. “Nehn, Nehn, look at him! Isn’t he Varric Tethras?”

“ _Ooooh_! He is!”

She scrambles to get in front of the dwarf and observes him carefully. She gasps as she notices his resemblance with the back cover of most of his books.

“Everyone in our clan read your _Tale of the Champion_! It’s an honor, messer Tethras!”

“Oh boy.” Varric shuffles awkwardly on his seat, giving them a lopsided, bashful smile. “I wasn’t expecting to be famous even among Dalish clans.” He narrows his eyes and it’s his turn now to concentrate and try to remember. “Did we meet before? I usually remember all the faces I see, but…”

“Our daughter told us you were here as well, but we didn’t imagine to meet you like this.” Athim replies and this time his smile is a bit bigger than the previous ones.

“We are from clan Lavellan. Scarlet’s parents.” Nehn explains, her smile as big and radiant as ever, and Varric curses and gets down his chair.

“Andraste’s ass, I didn’t know! I’m sorry, I… I would have offered you something better than ale if I knew!”

“It is no problem, it’s delicious!” Nehn hurries to reassure him. She continues to take small sips and Athim kindly reminds her she isn’t used to drinking alcohol.

“You’re right, I should probably stop before I get too drunk to speak with Scarlet.” She takes one final gulp, though, and places the half-empty mug back on the table, grinning at her husband. “What? I didn’t finish it!”

“Maker’s breath, now I understand why I felt like that when I first saw you.” Varric chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, consider me at your complete service, messer and lady Lavellan. Ask and Varric Tethras will do his best to help you in any way he can.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Athim’s small-but-bigger-than-the-others smile is back on his face: the little scars on his skin move together with the vallaslin, dancing on his flesh, and two dimples - identical to his daughter’s - appear on his cheeks.

Nehn has just opened her mouth to explain to Varric what their problem is when the door next to the fireplace opens and a tall human man, dressed in rich robes, steps into the hall.

“Varric, here you are!” he exclaims, scrunching up his nose. He sounds annoyed and utterly disgusted. “This book you gave me is _atrocious_ and… oh?”

The man blinks at the unusual sight of two unknown Dalish elves standing near the dwarf’s table and curls his beautiful mustache.

“Are these new friends of yours, Varric?” he asks, then bows his head, smiling at Nehn. But he jumps out of his skin when she gasps and gets closer, her small body a few inches from is.

“Creators!” she murmurs in awe. “I know who you are!”

“It is so relieving to hear my reputation precedes me.” the man replies flatly, glancing above the elven woman’s head… and only then he notices Athim’s glare. “Maker’s breath! What is this about?”

“Please, wait a minute! I want to be sure to pronounce your name correctly!” Nehn rummages inside her bag once again, while Athim patiently keeps it open for her.

Meanwhile Dorian shoots a worried, panicked look to Varric, demanding to know what’s happening, but the dwarf snickers behind his hand and refuses to cooperate.

“Here it is!” the elven lady cheers, raising the letter like a trophy. “Let’s see… _‘I found my best friend in Dorian Pavus, an Altus from Tevinter. He has been through much, but he has always been here for me. I love him dearly.’_ This is you, right? She describes you two paragraphs below!”

Dorian blinks, unable to find a proper answer. He stares at the couple in front of him, mouth open, and can only nod slowly, too disconcerted to speak.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you too, messer Dorian! We’ve been encountering many of Scarlet’s friends since we arrived, you know?”

“I…” Dorian slowly walks over to a chair, scraping it on the floor to sit in front of the hearth. “I need to sit down.”

The two elves hurriedly pushes one of the mugs left on the table into his hands.

“Drink, _da’len_.” Athim tells him with a paternal voice, nodding solemnly, while Nehn offers him a warm smile.

He feels overwhelmed and sniffles, eliciting a fit of giggles from Varric.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet Scarlet’s parents like this!” he admits, ignoring the dwarf with all the patience he can muster. “She never said anything! She didn’t told us you were coming!”

“She doesn’t know we are here. We wanted to surprise her.” Nehn explains and Dorian’s expression softens, turning into a kind, suave smile. He gets up, the initial shock already gone, and places the mug back on the table to better take her hand and hold it in his. He pats it and strokes the back of it affectionately.

“Forgive my terrible manners. I am Dorian of House Pavus, here to help the Inquisition and its wonderful leader. It’s an honor, my lady.” he kisses her hand and smiles at Athim while Nehn giggles, flustered by the Altus’ smooth demeanor. “Pleased to meet you too, sir.”

He reaches for the elf, but Athim keeps looking at him, golden eyes drilling a hole into his, and ignores his hand.

“A man from Tevinter.” he says, without disgust, without malice. He is just repeating what he already knows to weigh that fact, to ponder over it. “A man from the country that destroyed and enslaved the People.”

“You are not putting me under the best light, my good man.” Dorian jokes, hoping to add some levity into the conversation. He keeps offering his open hand. “I never claimed that the Imperium is perfect. It needs restoration, it needs to change. In fact, I am here also to help with that.”

“You are?” Athim still doesn’t move a muscle, except for the ones of his face. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“With patience, a generous dose of stubbornness, and lots of shouting.” Dorian smirks, but his voice is sincere and his eyes honest. “Also Corypheus’ defeat will be a good way to convince the Imperium that nothing good comes from those ancient times and zealotry.”

“Mh.” the elf’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but not a grimace either. Nehn holds her breath, one of her small, calloused hands resting on her husband’s arm to calm him down. He looks somewhat satisfied.

Finally, he sighs and shakes the Altus’ hand, making him grin.

“If my daughter trusts you, then I will do the same.”

“Wise man, just like Scarlet! We are all lucky to have her.”

“Indeed we are.” an elegant voice comments and the two elves see a beautiful woman - the same who was up in the balcony - smile at them with politeness. She bends one knee gracefully, not a bow nor curtsies, then reaches for Nehn.

“Madame Lavellan, you cannot imagine how happy I am to see you. The Inquisitor speaks highly of her parents and clan and I was wondering when we would have finally met.”

“You must be Lady Vivienne.” Nehn realizes. She takes her hand, but mistakes the gesture for the same one she repeated with the other companions, so she shakes it up and down without hesitation. “I am very pleased to meet you too! This is Athim, my husband.”

If shaking hands like that disturbed her, Vivienne doesn’t show it; instead she looks rather amused and accepts the elf’s stern nod without batting an eye.

“I see our Scarlet mentioned everyone in her letter.” she says, tapping the long, painted nail of her index finger against her chin. “Such a sweet girl.”

“Oh, yes! She described everyone and everything, but we could have never imagined the Inquisition to be like this.” Nehn looks up at the high ceiling, a hand on her chest, the other grasping her husband’s. “This is all so new and fascinating for us. We never saw anything like this in our lives. And to think that our daughter lives here…!”

“Speaking of everyone…” Athim starts, focusing primarily on Dorian, since he has been officially elected Scarlet’s best friend. “Our daughter wrote entire _pages_ about a certain Solas. Which seems to be her boyfriend. She calls him _vhenan_ in the letter too.”

Varric curses and turns towards the fire, refusing to face the elven couple. He even partially hides his face behind his hand.

Vivienne shows her smile, instead, but she refuses to lock eyes with Athim as well.

So only Dorian remains and he clears his throat, showing the best, brightest smile his lips can form while trying to think of a good reply. He knows he’s charming as usual - obviously -, but it doesn’t seem to have a particularly positive effect on Athim.

His frown deepens, in fact, and he continues, even ignoring his wife’s hand tugging at his clothes to make him stop: “What is this man like? Scarlet only mentioned the good things, of course. The pages _oozed_ love and adoration, but…”

“It’s not polite to ask _them_ , Athim!” Nehn protests, putting her hands on her hips and making a very serious and stern face. It’s not particularly intimidating, though.

“I just want to know more about him!”

“Well, then we should just find him and talk with him! That’s how you learn more about a person!”

Athim huffs, folds his arms and _pouts_.

“They are external sources. They might give us more useful, unbiased information before…”

“Unbiased? Hah!” Varric snorts, turning back to them. “We are Scarlet and Chuckles’ friends too! You won’t hear anything _unbiased_ from us!”

“… Chuckles?”

“One thing you must know about our darling author is that he loves nicknames.” Vivienne dryly explains, before smiling again. “However, he is right. We all approve of their relationship, but if you want to know more about Solas in general, then you will receive very confusing and various opinions.”

“Messer Tethras calls him ‘Chuckles’.” Nehn timidly points out, wide-eyed, and for a moment she really looks like her daughter. “Is it because he laughs a lot?”

“Huh…”

“Well…”

“Great.” Athim grumbles, rolling his eyes. “So he is the cold type.”

“Hey, now! We didn’t say that!” Varric intervenes, defending his nickname choices. “He _does_ laugh when he wants to! He is also quite witty and snarky when the occasion arises.”

“He laughs more since he got together with your daughter.” Dorian confirms and Vivienne’s smile is bigger than before as she adds: “He doesn’t share much his smiles with the rest of us, but the Inquisitor is the one who sees them all.”

“That’s so sweet.” Nehn sighs, clasping her hands, and her next words makes her husband scoff: “I already like him, _vhenan_!”

“Let us meet him first.” Athim grumbles, then focuses back on Dorian: “Is it true he is older than her? How _much_ older, exactly?”

“Now, now, dear man. Age is barely an important matter, when both parties are of legal age and they consent to the relationship.” Vivienne candidly intervenes, but she only manages to terrify Athim more.

“Creators, _that_ much?” the poor man shrieks and Nehn cannot hide her surprise too. “Scarlet didn’t say it clearly in her letter, but we thought it couldn’t be more than five years!”

“ _Hah!_ ” Varric almost chokes on his ale, while Dorian bravely thinks of something clever to say. Athim looks on the verge of a breakdown, cheeks flushed red.

“He is much older than Scarlet, that is true.” the Altus slowly starts, choosing carefully his words. “But we all can assure you that he is not interested in your daughter because of her young age or good looks. Well, he likes her _assets_ , everyone can see that…”

“… _but_ he also loves her kindness and brilliant mind.” Vivienne concludes, suddenly serious, shooting Dorian a heated glare. “So fear not. He is not a cradle robber nor a degenerate.”

Nehn and Athim exchange a look and she smiles, cheerful and hopeful again.

“See?” she says. “He doesn’t sound that bad!”

Athim’s only answer is a deep growl.

“Perhaps you should really meet him before judging.” Dorian giggles, moving away from the table to stand beside Vivienne. “He should still be in the rotunda - this door right here. In the meantime, I’ll go warn our spymaster of your arrival.”

“And I will go to Josephine. The poor girl is going to have a heartattack.” Vivienne smirks, visibly enjoying the idea of being the first to give the Ambassador the news about the Inquisitor’s parents.

“Let me know how things go in there!” Varric hurries to say before Athim can open the door. “I have to add this in one of my next books!”

Before Nehn can ask more about his future story, Athim gently - but firmly - pushes her into the corridor and closes the door behind them.

They can see a rotunda at the end of the short tunnel, but it looks odd, colorful. Nehn tilts her head and squints her eyes.

“Are those... frescoes on the walls?” Realization hits her and she points at her bag, beaming at her frowning husband: “Scarlet said Solas loves painting and that he was working on a huge project! He must have made those frescoes!”

“At least he has talent for something.”

His wife swats his chest and he grumbles: “What else did she say? That he is some sort of Fade expert?”

“Yes and that he is a wise and intelligent man.” she swats him again when he hisses a bad word. “Athim! Will you stop being so insufferable?”

“The Beyond is a dangerous place for everyone and he is a _mage_. Creators only know in what kind of trouble he could get into.” he stares at Nehn and grabs her arm. “In what kind of trouble he could drag _our_ _daughter_ into!”

“He survived this long, didn’t he? And if he is truly so wise and educated, then there will be no problems.” She sighs and cups his cheek, smiling when he leans into the touch. “Stop worrying so much and let’s go meet him.”

“… Why are we whispering anyway?”

“Because I heard voices coming from there.”

They walk on their tip-toes through the short tunnel until they reach the rotunda; hiding in the shadows, they are able to see someone at the other side of the room, near a desk placed against the painted wall.

Their daughter, with her red hair, red cheeks, and smiling mouth, is sitting on it and her hands are cradling the face of a tall, bald elf that is standing in front of her. He says something they can’t hear and she giggles as he leans in to kiss her.

Athim fists his hands and breathes deeply through his nose, trying to compose himself. Next to him, Nehn observes the scene without saying a word, studying the way the tall elf speaks and touches their daughter.

First, he kisses her nose, her forehead, then her lips, all while whispering things that make her smile and laugh. Then he takes her right hand and presses it on his heart while listening to her; she seems very enthusiastic about something, maybe a topic that is dear to her, and he listens carefully, asking questions and engaging her in a long conversation that obviously makes them both happy and intrigues them.

He is older than her, that cannot be denied. He has probably their same age and he does not look exactly charming, at least not from this distance. He is tall, though, and lean, his shoulders are broader than those of any other elf they know and there are grace and elegance in his gestures, in the way he moves and speaks.

Nehn smiles. She likes him so far.

She glances up at her husband and sees him glaring at the bald elf with all his might; he probably wishes he was a mage to set him on fire, but he looks less upset than she feared. He must have noticed good qualities in that man as well.

They hear Scarlet laugh and Solas does too, before squishing her cheeks and kissing her pursed lips. She locks her ankles behind his waist and strokes his bald head; after they break the kiss, she resumes talking, while fixing his sweater and its collar. He presses small kisses on her head every few seconds.

“I think it’s time to announce ourselves, _vhenan_.” Nehn says and Athim agrees with a grunt.

They step into the warm light of the rotunda and Athim clears his throat loudly. Solas and Scarlet gasp, startled, and turn abruptly towards the new guests.

He frowns, wondering who they are and what they want, but his eyes widen as Scarlet lets out a strangled noise of surprise and jumps off the desk.

“Mamae!” she says, tears in her eyes, as she runs to them. “Papae!”

“ _Da’adahl!_ ” Athim shouts, a huge, bright smile splitting his face in half, and Nehn laughs and opens wide her arms to hug their daughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Solas has faced many things in his long life - some he can talk about, others are kept in a corner of his heart, hidden to everyone, even himself.

He can face many more, back straight, chin up, jaw tight.

But this? This he cannot win.

At first, he didn’t know what to think of those two Dalish elves in the rotunda. Refugees, perhaps, who wished to join the Inquisition like that Loranil had done. Or maybe simple visitors who wanted to honor a member of clan Lavellan, another Dalish who was helping the People so much.

Even despite his wisdom, he couldn’t imagine _this_.

And now, as they smooch and hug Scarlet, he slips further into the shadows, observing the cheering family in utter silence. His hand is gripping the back of the chair, even if he is not aware of it.

“ _Ma da’adahl!_ ” the man is repeating, holding his daughter in a strong embrace, his wrinkled, wet cheek pressed against hers. He has her eyes and nose, Solas notices, and he is dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, patched together in multiple points. His longish brown and gray hair is tied in an unruly, low ponytail to keep his face and eyes free. Probably a warrior, a senior hunter of the clan.

The woman now kissing every part of Scarlet’s face is shorter, petite, and her red hair is identical to her daughter’s, except for gray stripes here and there. He can see Scarlet in her smile, although the mother is much louder and shows her emotions without restraints, filling the rotunda with her laughter and enthusiastic words, while her daughter smiles at her, too overwhelmed to say a word.

Solas doesn’t move a muscle, observing his _vhenan_ with a sad, nearly _terrified_ face.

He should leave them alone. He is only an intruder in their family reunion and he saw the man’s face before Scarlet recognized them.

He was _livid_ and glaring right at him. He reminded him of his wolves friends when they got angry with each other or went to hunt.

He is a wolf too, immensely older, with much more knowledge, but this is a too dangerous battle. He needs to prepare better, to leave them be while he thinks of something good to say, of something that won’t embarrass Scarlet nor anger her parents.

He knows he is not good with people, especially if they are other elves, children born in this new, so different world. He needs to be careful: he has to be polite, accept everything this man and woman will tell him, face the jealousy that man will surely throw at him, answer the woman’s questions, and be himself at the same time.

He groans inwardly. He has lost even before starting.

Slowly, so slowly, he begins to move towards the stairs, walking close to the wall but never looking away from the family. His heart clenches painfully as Scarlet dries her eyes and laughs, cheeks red and eyes twinkling with joy.

He is happy for her. He knows how much she missed her family and, despite the panic increasingly growing inside him, he smiles.

Then he hears snickering and muffled giggles coming from the upper level and looks up.

The others are there, watching the scene; some are decently hidden and have the decency to be discreet about it, like Blackwall and Cole. Others are blatantly eavesdropping and spying on the whole situation: Cassandra and Bull are gossiping, Sera is pouting and observing the family with an odd, confused face, Varric is taking notes for his books.

Solas glares at them all and it seems his silent scowl has burned them, because they all turn to him, focus their whole attention on him, and smile.

“What are you doing?” Varric mouths, but he refuses to respond and keeps moving, the stairs his only way out of here.

“Hey!” Sera hisses. “He is fucking leavin’!”

“That’s rude, man! You should introduce yourself at least!” Bull intervenes and Solas sighs, stopping and looking back at the family.

Scarlet is still at the center of the room, asking and answering questions, showing her parents the Mark, reassuring them that she is fine and fully recovered from the events of Haven, which happened more than one year ago.

He can’t leave now. He has just sworn not to embarrass her, but was already going to make a great mistake. It would have been caused by his fear and need to prepare himself, both mentally and psychologically, that is true, but he feels there is not time for that.

There is probably not even _need_ for that, since things would hardly change even if he spent an entire _century_ trying to come up with good ways to introduce himself and make a good impression.

He knows he won’t make a good one anyway.

So he goes back to the second desk, hands clasped behind his back, changing his worried, panicked expression into a milder, calm one. He politely looks away from the family and tries not to listen to their conversation, even if scraps of words still reach him. His chest hurts and his ears are ringing.

“ _Da’adahl_ , are you sure you eat enough? We saw _sooo_ much food in the hall, but…”

“We brought blankets. We know you probably have dozens of them in your room, but these are Dalish and smell of home.”

“Your friends look so kind and funny! I didn’t think they could be so nice, even after reading your letter.”

The topic slowly starts to change and Solas braces himself: soon they will ask about him, it’s inevitable.

As if reading his mind, Scarlet’s father raises his eyes from his daughter and looks at him. His face changes immediately: it’s not a defiant look, but it scrutinizes him to his very core and he shudders, involuntarily shifting his face into a colder expression, a defensive mechanism that often accompanies him.

Then he looks at Scarlet and she smiles at him, leaving her parents’ embrace to stand at his side. He instinctively relaxes as she takes his hand and squeezes it gently, while telling her parents: “Mamae, Papae, this is Solas.”

The mother seems friendly and accommodating: she smiles at him too, trying not to look him up and down excessively. She focuses on his face instead and apparently she likes what she sees because she makes a step forward and bows slightly, without breaking eye contact.

“It’s a pleasure, Solas. I am Nehn of clan Lavellan.” she says and he bows too, too quickly and stiffly, but it doesn’t bother her.

“ _Andaran atish_ _’an_. It’s an honor, lady Nehn.” he says. Hopefully a bit of perfectly pronounced Elvhen will win him some points.

The woman beams at him and he even manages to crack a smile - stiff just like his shoulders -, before her husband gets closer too and introduces himself with a cold stare: “I am Athim of clan Lavellan. Our daughter told us much about you in her letter.”

“She filled entire pages.” Nehn giggles and Scarlet groans, a deep red blush spreading all over her face and neck.

“Mamae!”

Solas turns to her and his smile changes, becoming warmer, more relaxed, free from fear; Scarlet blushes even more, especially when her mother giggles again.

“All good things, I promise. _Many_ good things.” she says. “She wrote you are a mage, a wise expert of the Fade.”

Her tone is still amicable and kind, but she doesn’t hide the curiosity and mild worry in it and Solas hurries to reassure her and defend his knowledge.

“I do love and study the Fade.” he confirms and he doesn’t miss the way Athim’s eyes narrow just slightly. “In fact, I’ve been walking its paths for years now.”

“Scarlet said you are a Dreamer.” Athim intervenes and there is trace of surprise in his voice. Positive, Solas wants to think, so he smiles and nods.

“Yes. I saw many marvels and beautiful memories in my journeys and met wonderful spirits who became my friends.”

And here is when he understands he has said too much too soon.

Athim and Nehn stares at him in shock, glance at Scarlet for a second, then, realizing that he really meant that, each reacts in a different way.

Nehn lets out an endearing ‘ooooh’ and clasps her hands. He has the impression she has done this many times before, that it’s some sort of habit of hers. Still, she looks _pleasantly_ surprised and there is a smile tugging at her lips again.

“Spirits like the charming boy we met at the stables?”

They met Cole? It’s remarkable this Dalish woman considers him ‘charming’ and now Solas is surprised too.

“Sometimes, yes, although Cole is very special.”

“And these… friends of yours never meant you harm?” Athim asks, the voice of reason, strict rules, and superstition. However, he still sounds amazed and Solas hopes he can fully convince him once he has given him enough proofs of the beauty of the Fade and its inhabitants.

But how is he supposed to explain that spirits are people and are supposed to be respected, that demons are only twisted desires, wishes gone wrong, and not mere monsters to an old Dalish elf?

He knows how delicate this topic with the Dalish is.

And yet, Scarlet understood him, she believed him and still does. She complimented him and his mind and studies in her letter - a part of him wonders if she complimented his looks too and if her parents are disappointed by those.

His panic rises.

“Never. They taught me much and helped me during difficult times.” he doesn’t say more, but Scarlet’s hand squeezes his again and offers him strength and courage.

“Solas knows so many things about Elvhen culture too!” she adds, proud and loving, and his heart bursts with love for her. “He learned them in the Fade, watching the ancient memories he found while sleeping in old ruins and temples.”

“And how do you know these memories are reliable?” Athim insists, puzzled and ironic, raising one eyebrow. Solas straightens his back a little bit more and takes a deep breath. He must control his tone. He must control himself. He has faced these doubts and irony in the past too.

“Of course everything must be carefully studied and weighed, so to discern the truth from the Fade’s distorted mirroring.” he allows himself to smile again and Athim doesn’t seem happy. “It is the same with the waking world, after all, is it not?”

“… I guess.” the Dalish warrior concedes and Solas hears Scarlet breathe out a relieved sigh. But she tenses up again when her father continues, ignoring his wife’s glare: “So you are not Dalish nor city elf? I never heard about an elf like you.”

“We are few.” Solas keeps showing a polite but not quite warm smile. “We like to keep to ourselves.”

“So you never had a clan?” Athim’s jaw is set to tight it’s a wonder he can still talk. “By the way, are there any families we should know about, considering your… late age?”

“ _Papae!_ ”

“ _Athim!_ ”

“I was just asking!” the Dalish warrior raises his hands defensively, dodging his wife’s.

Solas’ ears are burning, just like the shame in his heart. He knew his older age would have been brought up sooner or later. He isn’t blind, he isn’t a fool: he knows Scarlet is way younger - _so much younger_ \- than him and he doesn’t blame her father for that painful jab directed at him. Still, it hurts and he has to control his voice so that it won’t sound as sad and mortified as he is feeling.

“There are no families, no other lovers. Scarlet is my first and only one.”

“Oh my!” Nehn says with a breathy laugh, hands on her flushed face. “Isn’t that sweet!”

Athim just grunts, his scowl shifting the dark lines of his _vallaslin_ , and his wife swiftly changes topic, knowing he is about to insist and ask more.

“Scarlet said you found Skyhold, that you led the organization here.”

“The Inquisition wouldn’t exist without him. He found it while exploring the Beyond.” Scarlet confirms, her smile bigger than ever. She is eager to show her parents how good he is and he feels disgusting, wretched like never before.

He doesn’t deserve her and he can see Athim is thinking the same.

“Oh, did you see his frescoes? He’s been painting the rotunda since we arrived!”

She brings her parents back at the center of the room, her hand still entwined with Solas’, and proudly shows them the walls. Her eyes are _twinkling_ and her cheeks must hurt, because her smile is so huge her dimples are bigger than ever, stretching the red lines of her vallaslin.

“They depict the feats of the Inquisition! The style is Elvhen and…”

“I thought they looked similar to the ones of the ancient ruins!” Nehn says, staring at the colors and delicate strokes with awe. “Did you learn this in the Fade too, Solas?”

“Yes.” he confirms and this time he allows his pride to slip a bit through his tone. He is aware of the good quality of his work and those frescoes depict _Scarlet_ , so he put extra effort into them, since from the start.

He begins to explain the basis, how to prepare the pigments and colors, how to choose the best brushes. Scarlet and her mother listen attentively, the older woman letting out an admired ‘ooooh!’ once in a while; Athim stays quiet, arms folded on his chest, observing the fresco that depicts the attack of Corypheus on Haven.

“This is Scarlet’s story.” Solas says and he instinctively gets closer to her, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on her rough knuckles. He makes a mental note to spread some lenitive ointment on them once they are alone. “I wanted to…”

“Celebrate her?” Nehn concludes for him, a knowing smile on her lips, and he chuckles, nodding, two pink spots on his cheeks and eyes only for his Scarlet. She is redder than her hair.

“I never saw someone paint Elvhen frescoes before. We only ever saw the old, half-forgotten murals in the ruins we encountered.” Athim finally speaks, his tone softer than before, nearly melancholic.

Solas hums and replies before he can think twice about the words leaving his mouth, before he can realize what he’s going to say:

“Yes, I doubt the Dalish have the right resources and knowledge to learn that.”

An awkward silence falls in the rotunda, broken by a gasp and a groan coming from the upper level.

He freezes, eyes wide.

_Oh no. No. No!_

Nehn seems surprised, disappointed even, by his comment, as if she didn’t expect him to say something like that. Scarlet is still holding his hand and even though her expression is unreadable, he can see the sad look in her eyes.

Athim is glaring at him, openly outrage and offended.

“I… I did not mean…” Solas looks at them all, shoving panic back into his heart, and mustering all his strength to face the consequences of his ill retort. “I only…”

“Do you know how much knowledge and lore we lost, _da’len_?” Athim interrupts him and even if that word isn’t suitable for him at all, Solas accepts it and stays quiet.

The other elf walks over to him, hands fisted, gritting his teeth, and continues: “Do you have any idea how much we still need to rediscover, while doing everything we can to _survive_? Because that’s what Dalish elves do every day and every night. We survive in a world that rejects us constantly.”

“I know that.” Solas replies, without breaking eye contact; he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t step back, he doesn’t look down. “I know all that more than you can possibly imagine.”

“Do you?” Athim’s rage is vast like a tide, but he keeps it in check with a strong dam of self-control and experience born from his many years of life.

Many, yes, but not as many as Solas’.

“You have no right to judge us. It is not our fault we still don’t remember much of the past. We fight to do that, though, and we never stopped.”

_‘And yet you do a terrible job at it.’_

The words are there, burning on his tongue, but Solas holds them back before he can make things worse. Before he can hurt and mortify Scarlet, who is looking at him with anxiety, with the knowledge of what he thinks about the Dalish memory of the ancient ways.

Her hand is gripping his tightly, not because she wants him to remain silent, but because she is scared of what might happen. She rests her other hand on his arm: he feels it burn on his old sweater, scorching like Athim’s glare.

He swallows his pride and snarky retort for her, allowing Athim this small victory.

“ _Ir abelas_ , _hahren_. I spoke without thinking.” he says, truly wishing to become their friend, to earn their respect. His mistakes and the consequences of it, still visible even after all these millennia, haunt him and he still has to learn how to swim across the tides of this new world, how to handle the people he meets here.

Athim is humble, just like his name announces, and accepts his apologies with a nod of his head and a softened gaze. Scarlet sighs relieved, like her mother, who then proceeds to change topic again.

“Is this your desk, dear?” She looks at the books and papers scattered on the battered wooden surface and smiles. “Creators, it looks like complicated stuff! Is this all about the Fade?”

“Mostly.” he answers, his voice still mild and soft, containing a bit of embarrassment.

She called him ‘dear’, at least.

A gasp, then Nehn takes a parchment with two series of letters on it: one is written in an elegant, clear handwriting, the other is simpler, less confident and shakier although there is a certain beauty hidden in it.

“This is _written_ Elvhen!” she babbles and Athim promptly comes to her side, looking at the paper from above her shoulder. “Only the Keepers know how to write it!”

Solas bites back another ironic comment - he knows about the Dalish tradition of letting only the Keeper of each clan learn how to write in Elvhen. The First and some other lucky members of the clan can learn how to read it, but the writing knowledge is reserved exclusively to the Keepers, a fact that he still cannot comprehend.

Scarlet already knew some words of Elvhen before: he helped her improve her pronunciation and taught her more words, phrases, grammatical rules that let her read more complex texts.

Then he started to teach her to write it.

And she, with her immeasurable curiosity and love to learn more, accepted, forgetting about the Dalish customs and focusing entirely on the new world that he was opening to her.

The page her mother and father are staring at is one of the many exercises he has done with her and they quickly understand what happened.

They look at Scarlet, mouths agape, and she smiles, radiant, and says with the most elated tone and biggest, proudest smile: “Solas has been teaching me! He knows Elvhen perfectly and even some variations of it he heard in the Fade! He…”

“ _Da’vhenan_.” Nehn interrupts her, breathless. “You are not a Keeper nor a First.”

Scarlet’s enthusiasm dies like burning leaves and her face falls; she is embarrassed and nearly scared now that she has been reminded she broke the traditions of her clan and many others.

Solas is furious. Not at her - _never at her_ -, but at the illogical mentality of the Dalish, at their secrecy, at their unshared knowledge that not everyone can access to.

He is angry at their _pride_ which prevents most of them from learning - even if partially wrong things.

And he can see now how this affects Scarlet too, how mortified she is. She believes to have done a wrong thing in wanting to learn more and he cannot accept this nor her pain.

“I-I know.” she babbles, watching her parents with growing anxiety. “But…!”

“It’s so, _so beautiful_ that you are learning how to write in Elvhen, my dear, and we are so proud of you.” her mother hurries to reassure her, even taking her hand, but her next words are still laced with worry: “I am not sure what Keeper Deshanna and the others will think about this, though… You know how strict our rules about ancient lore and what can be taught are.”

“Also,” Athim doesn’t spare Solas another glare, “how do we know that these teachings are _correct_?”

Solas returns the glare, enraged by the mortification and doubts they are putting Scarlet through, and replies, his voice equally cold and defiant: “I could say the same for the knowledge your Keepers keep from you.”

Athim gasps, outraged once again, but Solas doesn’t apologize this time and continues, narrowing his eyes: “I heard of the Dalish way of letting only some members of the clan learn certain aspects of the ancient lore. And I always considered it to be deplorable, nonsensical, and _primitive_.”

“How dare you…!” Athim looks ready to strike him, but Scarlet’s presence holds him back. Solas doesn’t flinch and ignores the shocked look on Nehn’s face, knowing it’s probably similar to her daughter’s, who is gripping the sleeve of his sweater with so much strength it’s a wonder it’s not already torn.

“Just a few minutes ago, you complimented the Dalish’s admirable fight to recover their lost culture, but now you are complaining because your daughter is learning how to write in Elvhen.” He snarls, shaking his head. “Can’t you see how _idiotic_ that is? How stupid these traditions are? Why keep such vital knowledge away from those who aren’t Keepers or Firsts? Where is the benefit in that, the growth and restoration you so desire?”

“It could be misinterpreted, misused, lost and scattered even more than already is!” Athim growls and fiercely grabs Solas’ by the collar, making Scarlet and Nehn shout out in surprise and anger, respectively. “But what would you know? You are not Dalish!”

“And how do you know you are not misinterpreting and losing much this way too?” Solas retorts, seizing the other elf’s wrist and freeing himself from his painful grip without much problem. The warrior looks stunned for a moment, probably not expecting him to be that strong.

“A few people guarding important information because of rituals and blind superstitions, only to hold it against the other clans and throw it in their faces.” Solas doesn’t hide the disgust in his voice and anger makes him say more than he intended to. “Tell me, _hahren_ , how many arguments do take place during the Arlathvhen? How many Keepers fight because they cannot agree over a text or piece of paper? Isn’t that misinterpreting? Isn’t that misusing?”

“You think you are wiser than all of us just because you can walk through the Fade and see ancient memories, _da’len_? That you hold the key to the lost culture of Elvhenan?” Athim jabs at his chest, right above the jawbone pendant, and hisses: “You cannot recover it like this, _young_ man. Not alone, not with that pride that you even carry in your name.”

Solas bites back a bad word at that. Both he and Athim are breathing heavily and their stances indicate only great rage and a desire to settle this with their fists.

He rarely feels the urge to use his hands instead of his mind and words to settle an argument… at least now that he is not the cocky elf of his youth anymore.

But in this right moment, should this warrior - _Scarlet’s father!_ , the wisest part of him desperately reminds him - attack him, he isn’t sure he would stay still and refuse to counterattack.

Scarlet intervenes and their rage slowly, but steadily melts, because she steps between them and _shouts_ , a mindblowing event because she rarely raises her voice and now she is addressing _them_.

“Will you please _stop_?” her voice echoes in the rotunda and the sound makes them flinch and jump. She looks back and forth at them both, little hands fisted at her sides, lithe body shivering with rage. “Do I have to call the guards so you can finally act _civilly_ or will you start using your brain before your mouth?”

“Why are you looking at me?? It’s his fault!” Athim gasps, pointing at Solas, but his daughter smacks his arm down and glares at him, cheeks red.

“I am looking at you _both_! Solas, stop making that face!”

He babbles something - he doesn’t even know what -, tries to assure her that he _wasn’t_ smiling, but she shushes him with another glare and he is so shocked to see her be like this with him that he falls silent immediately.

He feels bad and only now he realizes the enormity and importance of the argument he has just had with Athim.

So much for making a good impression.

The warrior is scowling down at the floor, listening to his daughter as she scolds him; she tells him everyone has different opinions, that he should respect them, that Solas’ teachings _are_ correct, that he shouldn’t have treated him like that.

Once she is finished, he attempts to defend himself, but his wife intervenes and he has to listen to another reprimand.

“We have just arrived…”

“He was…!”

“… and you already managed to argue with your daughter’s mate _twice_!”

“It’s not my fault that he…”

Solas listens to them with a big dose of satisfaction, which evaporates away as Scarlet slowly goes to him and folds her arms on her small chest.

She looks like her parents and that sweet thought would warm Solas’ heart if he wasn’t so…

… so scared.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he starts, then he sees them. Tears, shiny and glistening, in her eyes and he feels deeply, utterly, completely disgusting.

“My heart!” it’s his sad, shocked murmur as he cradles her face in his hands. She doesn’t reject his touch, but she keeps glaring at him, lower lip trembling.

“My love.” he whispers, a strong hand clutching his heart in an icy grip. “Forgive me, I did not mean…!”

“Oh, great! You made her _cry_!” Athim snarls, raising his arms up to the sky in a resigned, defeated gesture and Solas nearly growls at him.

“I did-”

“You both did!” Scarlet shouts and silence falls in the rotunda, different from the previous one. This one is sorrowful, it tastes like guilt, and the two men cast their eyes down, ashamed.

Solas draws back, listening to Scarlet’s soft sobs with a crushed heart, until Nehn comes closer and pulls her away.

“Come here, _da’vhenan_.” she coos, caressing her hair and letting her cry on her shoulder. “Come here.”

Solas’ eyes never leave her: hands hanging loosely at his sides, shoulders slightly slumped, he observes Scarlet as she cries and sniffles, muffling the little sounds with the sleeve of her shirt. Her mother whispers soothing things in her ear and when Athim dares to approach, she snaps at him and he sheepishly steps back, as contrite as Solas.

He distractedly glances at the upper level of the rotunda. Things look grim up there too: the companions are looking away from the scene, but their worry prevents them from leaving and they keep waiting for Scarlet to calm down and things to get better. Once in a while, Bull or Varric says something to which Cole or Sera promptly responds, the spirit boy with calm and kindness, the girl with a bad word and a kick in the shin.

In the end, Scarlet regains her composure and even though her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks still wet, and her nose is running, she is the perfect image of the reliable, placid Inquisitor everyone loves and respects.

Solas knows her well, though, and can see the great pain and hurt in her golden eyes. She sniffles and says, her voice unusually rough: “This was not the meeting I imagined. Not the one I wanted.”

She wipes off the tears from her eyelashes with angry gestures, then continues: “I know there are differences between you and Solas, Papae, but you must not look at those only. There is so much more to him than them. He is a wonderful person and I want you to see that.”

Athim doesn’t reply, but thankfully his expression doesn’t change and Scarlet takes that as a positive thing.

She turns to Solas and he braces himself, making one step forward, too overwhelmed, too guilty to stay far from her too much. He doesn’t get closer, though, knowing that’s not what she wants now and she continues:

“Solas, the same counts for you. I know what your views on the Dalish are, but please don’t…” She sighs and he feels even worse, because her voice is soft, she isn’t accusing him, she just wants this to be a happy experience and _he already ruined everything_.

“Don’t let those stop you from learning more about my parents, from knowing them better. They will surprise you.”

He looks down and murmurs: “Forgive me, _vhenan_.”

He raises his head again, ready to say more, but the tender smile on her face strikes his heart and he can only stare in awe and even more guilt, knowing - for the umpteenth time since they are together - that he does not deserve her.

Athim is about to speak when the door of the rotunda opens and a disheveled Josephine rushes in.

She makes a shocked sound as she sees the two new elves - the sound of someone who heard about their arrival, but still can’t believe it. She is followed by an apparently unhurried Leliana - although her fast strides betray her nervous thoughts - and a Cullen filled with urgency and a bad dose of anxiety and new worries swirling in his head.

“Maker!” Josephine pants, hand on her cheek. “I… I am so sorry! We had no idea you were coming, my lady, my lord!”

She doesn’t notice the bad feeling still lingering in the air, the somber faces of Athim and Solas, Scarlet’s red eyes… or maybe she does, but doesn’t say anything to avoid embarrassing them.

“It is alright. We wanted to surprise our daughter.” Athim replies with a curt, but polite tone. He even cracks a smile at the poor Ambassador. “You are…?”

“Oh, I know, I know!” Nehn bounces. She turns to Scarlet, taking her hand, clearly intending to cheer her up and help her distract. “She is Josephine, isn’t she, _da’vhenan_? The Ambassador from Antiva?”

“Yes, Mamae.” Scarlet smiles and Josephine’s lips finally curl into a smile as she curtsies.

“It’s a pleasure, my lady, my lord.”

“The pleasure is ours.” Nehn glances at Leliana. “So you must be Sister Leliana. Even our clan heard about you.”

“I am honored, lady Lavellan.” the spymaster replies with a deep bow and a candid smile. “I am sorry my agents didn’t warn me about your arrival. Unfortunately the majority of them is away and those who are left here in Skyhold are too busy with other tasks and…”

Yes, she is quite crestfallen too. Normally she wouldn’t justify her actions and mistakes so much, but it’s evident she is deeply embarrassed for not having welcomed the Inquisitor’s parents sooner.

“It’s not been a problem. We had all the time to meet our daughter’s companions.” Athim blatantly ignores Solas as he nods at the people watching down from the second level.

Dorian and Vivienne are among them now, but while the latter is sipping wine from a glass as if she is watching an Orlesian play, the first has noticed the odd mood in the room and has demanded to know what happened from the others.

Leliana sees that something is not right, but her smile and eyes tell nothing as she bows her head again and says: “I am glad to hear so, my lord.”

Athim fidgets on the spot, mumbling something, not used to being treated with so much deference by a human, and when his eyes move to Cullen, he looks even more uncomfortable.

“You are the Commander, aren’t you?” he says and Cullen bows with stiff grace. There are dark circles under his eyes caused by sleep deprivation and the call of lyrium. He is finally getting better, but his sunken eyes and white lips are probably what unsettle Athim so much and Nehn seems to share part of her husband’s uneasiness.

“Cullen Rutherford, here to serve. Skyhold is already informed of your presence here.” the Commander confirms. He shares a look with his colleagues, then Josephine continues with a too bright smile: “Food and drinks are already waiting for you in the main hall! Please let us know if you need anything else. As for your rooms, which you will surely want to visit soon after a so long journey… uh… well…”

“All the guest rooms are occupied.” Leliana concludes and even though she is handling this a bit better than Josephine - who still hasn’t recovered from the shock -, her cheeks are red and she bows her head a third time. “There are many nobles in visit and they always bring along their family and servants.”

“Oh, dear, is this what was bothering you?” Nehn chuckles with a maternal smile. She is still holding Scarlet’s hand, a particular that the three advisors undoubtedly noticed. “We are Dalish! Just give us a free spot of grass, an open sky, and we are home.”

“Oh _no_!” Josephine gasps, horror in her eyes. “No, my lady! Skyhold is way too cold at night for you to sleep outside! We cannot absolutely allow that!”

“Mamae, she is right. You would catch an illness.” Scarlet says, keeping her voice soft so that it cannot reveal her previous tears. She turns to her Advisors and they immediately straighten their back, ready to listen to whatever order she has for them.

“Give my quarters to my parents. They will sleep there for the whole time they will spend in Skyhold.”

“ _Da’vhenan_ , no!” Athim moves to go to her, but stops half-way, not sure whether she is still mad at him. Apparently she is not anymore: she offers him a small, but loving smile and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry, Papae, those quarters are too big for me anyway! Sleeping somewhere else for once will make me feel better.”

“But where exactly…? _Oh!_ ” Josephine stifles a giggle. “Oh, I see!”

Scarlet grins and Nehn shoots Solas a knowing, amused smile, but Athim is _lost_ and looks at his daughter and at the Ambassador with evident confusion. His scowl has punctually come back.

Then he follows his wife’s gaze and blanches.

Solas returns his terrified stare with a calm, even smug one, and raises higher his chin before redirecting his gaze on Scarlet and smiling at her, hands clasped behind his back.

“I’d be happy to-”

“Wait!”

Athim goes to him in fast strides, his bare feet making little to no sound on the cold floor of the rotunda. Solas stiffens and flinches as the other elf’s arm slides on his shoulders.

“You already spend so much time with this _young_ man, _da’vhenan_!” Athim laughs, the fakest, most forced laughter Solas has ever heard in his long life. “Why don’t you and your mother sleep in your quarters while I use this chance to know your mate better? I am sure he won’t mind sharing his room with his future father-in-law.” he turns to Solas, his grin almost predatory. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

He pronounces that last word like venom and Solas’ fingers and mouth twitch.

“Papae, no!” Scarlet hisses, instantly realizing what he has in mind, but Athim shushes her with a wave of his hand: “ _Da’adahl,_ you and Mamae have to catch up with each other! You have been far from the clan for so long and I want you two to have your mother-daughter moments again.”

“Athim, we can have those during the day too…” Nehn starts, her glare quickly coming back, but her husband bursts into that loud laughter again.

“Now, _vhenan_ , don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to spend the entire night talking with your daughter about her missions and all her accomplishments!” he gestures to the whole rotunda to show the frescoes, then pats Solas’ back. “Also this will be the perfect opportunity for me and Solas to talk as well.”

Solas shows the smallest of smile, cold and distant like his gaze, and Athim’s grin is borderline creepy now.

This cannot end well.

“It’s a wonderful idea.” Solas says in the end, nodding. He turns to Scarlet, who is staring at him in disbelief. “You have to make up for lost time with your mother, _vhenan_ , and I will be more than happy to share my room with your father. Perhaps we will find some common ground.”

Scarlet is looking at him as if he has gone crazy, but a simple shift of his expression and he tells her everything he wants her to know: that he will do his best to make things proceed smoothly, that there is no need to insist and show the Advisors that something is truly wrong, that he promises her everything will be fine.

She relaxes a bit, even if she is still wringing her hands, and nods at the Advisors.

“Very well, then. Could you please prepare another bed in Solas’ room?”

“There is no need for that. I can sleep on a simple pallet.” Athim says, earning himself a pointed look and a sigh from his daughter.

“Papae, at first I thought beds felt odd too, but believe me: they are extremely comfortable and you will sleep much better on one.”

“They really are a marvelous comfort, especially after a tiring… ah, time.” Solas gloats at the sight of Athim’s livid face. He took the hint and his fingers dig like claws into his shoulder.

Solas’ smile only becomes bigger.

He also sees the adorable way Scarlet’s cheeks turn red - the idea of spending who knows how many nights with Athim instead of her fill him with immeasurable sadness and discomfort, but he is well aware of how important this is for her and this might be his only chance to fix things with her father.

Also, it can’t be denied that she will enjoy sharing her rooms with her mother after all this time. If it means making her happy, then he is ready for this and even worse stuff.

“I will immediately begin preparations!” Josephine says with a too cheerful smile, jotting down some notes while Leliana clears her throat and Cullen’s eyes widen as this weird situation unfolds. “Now, why don’t we move to the main hall? There is good, warm food waiting for you and the kitchen staff is ready to satisfy any need or desire you may have.”

“Food indeed sounds lovely.” Nehn niggles, heading to the door arm in arm with Scarlet. The two women have to focus on the stream of questions the Advisors have for them and Athim has all the time to spin Solas around to face him.

He leans in and growls, staring into his eyes, lips curled into a snarl:

“I’d rather let the Dread Wolf himself eat me than let you sleep with my daughter while I’m here, _young_ man.”

Solas doesn’t respond and Athim shoves him out of the way, hurrying to follow the others outside the room. Solas is two steps behind him, walking without hurry, hands still clasped behind his back.

He wants this to be good. He wants this to be a good time for Scarlet, he wants to make her happy, he wants to be accepted by her parents. He wants to make her proud, to see a smile on her face and joy in her eyes, not tears.

This is important for him too.

But that man will make things difficult, he already knows it. He is a great, formidable adversary and Solas almost admires him.

He takes a deep breath, imagining Scarlet’s happiness once things will be finally better. That is the only thing that matters.

Still, he can’t help but think, glaring at the back of the _old_ man in front of him:

_‘Perhaps he will, hahren. Perhaps he will.’_


	3. Chapter 3

For two Dalish elves who spent their entire lives in the wilderness, Skyhold is an enchanting, wondrous experience with surprises in every ancient corner.

The servants who put food and drinks on the long tables are human and elven and they are _paid_ ; there are no masters who slap them and the elven maid isn’t treated differently from the human one.

Everyone can eat as much as they want, whatever they want; if something isn’t on the tables, it can be requested directly to the kitchens and nothing is ever denied.

The walls are warm, the roof shields them from the rain and the wind; the seats feel weird, they are not made of leaves or grass, but they are soft enough and after a so long journey Athim and Nehn could sit even on a spiky rock and find it comfortable.

Word of their arrival has spread and now everybody knows that the Inquisitor’s parents are in visit. People - even _humans_ \- bow to them and call them ‘lord’ and ‘lady’; there are also some dwarves and their manners are more practical, but amicable all the same.

There are no distinctions among the tables, except for the ones some human nobles want to have, which nobody else follows: the soldiers eat with the servants, the scouts eat with the healers, the spies eat with the young blacksmiths of the armory.

It’s not different from the life in the clan Lavellan and Athim and Nehn are proud to see that their daughter is kind and humble even with so much power in her hands.

She sits with her companions and Athim grunts with satisfaction when Solas doesn’t sit next to her - as he is sure he would have done if they had not been there -, but picks a chair in front of her instead.

They sit at Scarlet’s left and right side and for a moment it’s like being back in the clan, together, with no _shemlen_ asking for her help and guide, with no demons falling from the sky, with no green mark embed into her flesh.

But then Athim notices the extravagant, rich food, the fresh water, the expensive wines, and mysterious drinks that are being served and the illusion breaks.

Cutlery - silver and sparkly, with spoons and knifes he never saw before - rests near his hands and the great roasted pork in front of him could feed the clan for an entire month.

The Qunari mercenary - The Iron Bull - tears half of it away and puts it on his plate while looking for something to drink with his three-fingered hand. Someone immediately brings a new, untouched pork - bigger than the first one - and Athim has to take some time to wrap his mind around it.

He is _starving_ , but doesn’t really know what to do: he doesn’t want to embarrass Scarlet with bad manners, but he is going to do that the same if he doesn’t start eating soon. Timidly, he reaches out for the most familiar thing he has seen: bread, warm and crispy, so much it crunches loudly when he takes one bite.

He turns to Nehn to see if she is having his same difficulties… only to find her giggling with their daughter, her plate full of different food, so much that nearly half of it has fallen on the table.

He grunts and watches with hidden disgust the snails lady Vivienne is putting one by one on top of a pile of weird vegetables he doesn’t recognize. The meat smells _divine_ and there are so many kinds of it - he can only name the hare -, but he is unsure about how he is supposed to eat it and the polite amount of it.

He is vaguely familiar with the use of cutlery, but it’s not really that used in the clan, where everyone prefers their hands, quick and expert, to the fork and knife.

He is surprised by how well Scarlet is handling them, but his wise eyes can notice her old habits resurfacing as she distractedly touches the food with her fingers before putting it in her mouth while speaking with Nehn.

He cracks a smile, relieved to see she is still the same despite everything.

Then his stomach growls threateningly and he is forced to act.

He picks up the only fork he recognizes and stabs a piece of soft, light meat; there are other pieces inside the large bowl, swimming in a tasty tomato sauce with herbs, and he sees similar ones on the table, each filled with various kinds of meat, fish, and vegetables. Scarlet’s companions reaches into them and put their contents on their plates in large quantities, without interrupting their conversations.

“That is calf meat.” a familiar voice that grates on his nerves says. He raises his eyes and glares at Solas, who is staring calmly at him. There is no mockery in his voice and eyes, but Athim feels heat rise on his cheeks and his scowl gets worse.

He puts some other pieces onto his dish, next to the bread, and hesitates for a moment, unsure what to do next.

“I suggest to pour a little bit of sauce over it. It will get softer, easy to chew, and its taste will improve.” Solas continues, not looking at him, but at his bowl of steaming soup instead. It’s not very large and there is no other food on his part of the table.

“You eat very little.” Athim comments dryly before he can think twice. He takes one spoon of sauce and pours it over the meat, his stomach growling again as the perfumed scent of tomato and basil reaches his nostrils.

Solas shows a small smile and replies: “My diet is light. I prefer it that way.” He glances at Athim’s plate, then looks back at his soup, which he is still stirring slowly, waiting for it to cool down. “You should eat more, _hahren_. Your journey has been long and tiresome.”

“I don’t like eating much either.” Athim lies. If he could, he would eat an entire boar every day, but the Dalish life is a rough one and sharing everything with the clan-mates is the only way to truly survive and endure.

That is what he has been taught and he has always eaten only his share, often offered his own food to Nehn and Scarlet, never asked for another portion that could be kept for the harsh winters or for the ill elders and children instead.

So now, in the middle of all this precious food that reappears with disarming speed on the tables, he doesn’t know how to act, what to say, how to eat and how to thank for it.

Solas seems to realize that and Athim has no idea how he does that. His smile is still small, a minimal shift of his lips and cheeks, but it’s almost kind. There is an odd sadness in his eyes and he looks very, very old.

Athim scowls some more, but he is more confused than annoyed now.

“Still, you should try these delicacies. They are healthy and nutrient and I am sure you would enjoy them.” the bald elf scoops a bit of soup into a wooden spoon and eats slowly, savoring the taste.

Athim shifts nervously on his chair, not used to the feel of it. For now, he will focus on the meat and bread and if his stomach complains, then he will take care of it with a second, but smaller portion.

He nearly gasps when the rich flavor of the calf invades his mouth. He never tasted something like that before and the sauce really enhances the delicate taste of the tender meat.

He timidly rubs the bread on the plate, dipping it into the red, dense liquid: he hopes it’s not something that only Dalish elves do, when they try to take all they can from their humble meals.

He is relieved to see that the Grey Warden and the city elf are doing the same, without shame, without even thinking twice about it.

He glances at his left: Varric and Cassandra are discussing about something in low, heated voices. The dwarf is smirking and clearly enjoying himself whereas the human woman is speaking quickly, cheeks flushed. They too are eating a lot of food, fish more precisely.

The clan Lavellan is lucky to wander near the Waking Sea, so he is familiar with that at least; he calmly finishes his meat and bread - making sure to clean the dish from all the sauce to express his satisfaction and compliments -, then eyes a huge sea bream on a wooden tray.

The Tevinter man - who is currently speaking with Nehn and Scarlet, praising Skyhold and its quarters - has taken a juicy part of it, followed suit by the Qunari. There is a little part left, the perfect portion he was looking for, but taking it means leaning in and putting his hand right at the center of the table.

What if it’s not polite to eat fish and meat together during the same meal? What if he is breaking some unknown rule right now?

He can see the guests’ eyes on his back, the curious stares and whispers; he and Nehn are big news and he is tremendously aware of the influence - both positive and negative - they can have on Scarlet’s role and reputation.

So he stays still, torn between hunger and embarrassment, between the deep curiosity that drives him to try every intriguing dish on the table and the cold dread running down his spine.

He meets Solas’ eyes and his ears burn.

“ _Hahren_.” the other elf calls quietly. He has finished his soup and is keeping his hands on his lap, just like Athim is doing. The look he is giving him is puzzled and not unkind. Surprising, considering what happened just one hour ago.

_Suspicious_ , Athim thinks, narrowing his eyes.

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” Athim grumbles. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Solas’ lips curl into an amused smile and one of his hands moves to take an oiled bread bun.

_That looks tasty too_ , a part of Athim thinks before he silences it.

“You can try other things. Everything here waits to be eaten.” Solas dips the soft bread into the empty bowl, looking for scraps of soup. He glances at Nehn and chuckles.

“You should follow your wife’s example.”

Athim turns to look at her and blinks: the quantity of food on her plate is _double_ now and she is eating with gusto, nodding and smiling at Dorian, cheeks round and full as she chews.

She looks happy, her eyes twinkling and her face flushed pink, and Scarlet laughs and smiles with her. He tenses up when his daughter faces him, smiles, and then looks down at his plate, where only a few small bones and bread crumbs are left.

“Papae!” she gasps and for a second his heart skips a beat, frightened. “Why did you eat so little?”

“I… I am full, _da’vhenan_.” he smiles, but she shoots him a glare and hurries to put _everything_ onto his plate, a multicolor arrangement of tastes, scents, and unknown culinary worlds.

“There.” Scarlet says, squeezing his forearm. “Way better now.”

Her smile and affectionate gesture tells him she is not angry anymore and he enjoys the feeling for as long as it lasts… which is not much, as she turns to look at Solas and her smile softens, turns into something different and mind-blowingly sweet.

“You should eat more too, Solas.”

He smirks at her, amused and roguish, and Athim’s glare could burn an Archdemon on the spot.

“You know I need some space for the dessert, _vhenan_.”

She giggles and Athim grunts, concentrating on his food to avoid seeing them like that. Creators only know what they were going to do together while sleeping in the same room.

Actually, he knows what and the thought fills him with rage and disgust.

He glares at Solas as he cuts the meat, but the other elf ignores him, either speaking with Scarlet and Nehn or listening to the other companions’ conversations.

There are laughing lines and wrinkles near his mouth and eyes, Athim notices. His hands are calloused and there are faint stains of ink on them; his ears are long and sharp and his bald head is quite shiny.

Athim wonders how old he is. It’s difficult to give him an exact age, but he can’t be younger than forty. Perhaps he is almost fifty… should he ask Scarlet? No, she would get mad again. One of the companions then?

“He is very old.” a soft, melodious voice whispers next to his ear.

Athim gasps and turns abruptly, fork frozen midair, and the sight of Cole’s gaunt face welcomes him.

The boy is crouching near his chair, apparently invisible to everyone else, and his bright eyes are almost invisible under the curtain of longish, blond hair.

“He is very old, but she likes it. She doesn’t mind it.”

“ _Fenedhis_ , boy.” Athim curses. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Cole blinks, surprised, and tilts his head.

“Yes, you did.” he replies. “You think he is not good for her. That he is too old and mysterious and _proud_. Solas is his name. He is a proud, but selfless wolf.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me.”

“I am sorry.” the spirit boy sounds a bit sad now. “It’s the truth, though.”

Athim awkwardly goes back to his meal, hoping the spirit will understand and leave him be. He hears an odd sound and when he turns back, Cole is gone.

He observes Solas, who is sharing opinions with Varric and the Iron Bull about their last mission; he looks at ease, perhaps a bit stiff, but his smile is sincere and his chuckle is loud and sounds funny.

Then he looks at Scarlet and Nehn and sees them talking in low voices: his daughter’s cheeks are _glowing_ , red like her hair, and there is a big, goofy smile on her face. His wife is giggling, overjoyed about something and he thinks he knows exactly what it is.

Athim grunts and scowls harder at his plate. At least the food is delicious.

He eats slowly, savoring every bite and morsel, and his daughter finally pays him some attention: she explains to him what he is exactly eating, suggests him the best dishes and the way he can taste them better, helps him eat the most extravagant food, shares with him her banana bread - a loved specialty in the Inquisition.

When it’s time to eat the fish, he stops. He is not full - everything is so good and new he could spend the entire day at that table -, but his plate is and he is not sure that the Dalish way to eat fish, just using hands and biting into the pulpy flesh, will be accepted in that odd court.

But it’s _Scarlet_ ’s court and she laughs sweetly when he asks her which knife he is supposed to use to ‘cut this damn beast’.

“Just use your hands!” she says with a grin, showing him her oily fingertips. Nehn giggles, her hands and the corners of her mouth even dirtier than before, and Athim looks around, surprised.

The Iron Bull has crumbs resting on his pants and sauce smeared all over his face; there is a little bone sticking out of Blackwall’s beard and Sera is making a mess, worse than the children of the clan.

Dorian is cleaning his hands with a perfumed napkin and Vivienne is delicately tapping her mouth with another one, pretending she doesn’t know there are grains of rice stuck to her cheek.

“Oh.” Athim says with a small smile that makes the _vallaslin_ on his face shift. “Well, then…”

He devours all the fish in a few minutes and now, instead of scowling, flailing around while trying to understand how this kind of food works, and glaring at Solas, he engages in the conversations that start around him and is able to relax, to speak with Scarlet again without problems.

Not many, anyway.

He sees Solas has followed Scarlet’s advice and taken another portion of soup - not much, but enough to warm his belly and hands again. Scarlet personally poured it for him, unaware of her father’s pout, insisting that he had to eat more.

Stupid _young_ man can’t even pour himself a bowl of soup.

“I thought you didn’t eat much.” Athim says with a smartass grin and he doesn’t miss the way Solas’ ears turn pink.

But the other elf shows him a polite smile and replies, raising his eyes from the bowl: “I could say the same of you, _hahren_.”

Athim bristles and his frown returns, ten times worse than before; Solas doesn’t seem to notice - or maybe he doesn’t care - and continues, his infuriating smile still there on his pale face: “I was sure you would have liked the food. The kitchen staff of Skyhold is quite phenomenal.”

“Indeed.” Athim grumbles, watching him scrape from the bottom of the bowl the remaining bits of stew and carrots, and their conversation ends there, much to his relief.

He hurries to catch Scarlet’s attention and keep it all for Nehn and himself - rightfully so, as they haven’t seen her for an eternity, while these people have already spent almost two years with her.

She is just telling them about the Dales and the Emerald Graves she visited, about the Elven ruins she found there, when the servants - the _paid_ servants, Athim remembers - return and take away all the empty and dirty dishes and cutlery, quick and efficient.

They are not quiet and reserved as he imagined them, though: they ask for opinions and feedback with earnest questions - “Was the food good? Did you enjoy it? Do you desire anything else?” - and everyone answers with sincere kindness or great enthusiasm.

Scarlet compliments them and the cooks, thanks them for their service, and reassures them everything was perfect. Next to her, Nehn’s chest swells with pride and her smile is huge as she listens to those people treat her daughter like royalty.

Then the questions come for them too and Athim babbles something positive, not able to express his satisfaction and the deep, warm sense of fullness and happiness that pervades him.

Nehn deals with that attention more easily, but she speaks fast and uses her hands a lot to communicate her thoughts. After all their years together, Athim knows she is nervous and flustered, not used to that special treatment.

“How did you get used to this, _da’vhenan_?” she asks her daughter once the servants have left. She is smiling, but her cheeks are still red and her hand searches for Scarlet’s. “If we are treated like this just because we are your parents, I can’t imagine how they treat _you_ every day.”

“It was hard, at first.” Scarlet admits and her smile looks a bit tired. “In the beginning, they called me the Herald of Andraste and I’m sure there are still many people who consider me that. Now that I am Inquisitor, everyone relies on me and there have been times when I really didn’t know what to do or say.”

“You never spoke of this in your letters.” Athim says, his frown now expressing worry and sorrow for his daughter. She has always been timid and introverted and he can only imagine how difficult it must have been for her to become such an important and influential person.

Inquisitor Lavellan, leading her army and saving Thedas, one Rift, Orlesian court, and forgotten ruin at a time. He and Nehn would feel proud and overjoyed if they weren’t so concerned and sad.

This is not an easy life. She is respected, even revered, and she can change Thedas with a wave of her hand, but there are dangers lurking in every corner, enemies waiting for her to let her guard down, zealot humans who would prefer to see Thedas reduced to ashes rather than follow an elf.

But then she smiles, happy and relieved, and continues: “I found really good people, though! My friends help me a lot and support me along the way. I am not alone.”

Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra are listening and their smiles are big, even flattered; the others are engaged in personal conversations and haven’t heard anything, but Athim is sure they all hold a dear place in Scarlet’s heart as well.

Then there is Solas, who has heard everything too, and Scarlet is looking right at him now, a loving, shy expression on her round face.

He is smiling at her, a so tender smile Athim has to look away because he doesn’t know how to feel. But he _is_ feeling something and can’t give a name to it. So he looks back at his daughter, dazzled, but she has cast her eyes down, smiling goofily and fidgeting.

They are in love, he realizes fully for the first time, and his old heart squeezes painfully, but it’s not a bad kind of pain.

He is drawn out of his reverie when the servants come back, bringing long and large trays filled with biscuits, cakes, and sweets. Cheers and roaring laughter all around him deafen him.

It’s not a sight familiar to Dalish elves: they have to steal or buy sugar and spices from human merchants and they have no means to produce the cakes and pastries like the ones that lie in front of his eyes now.

Some of them look Orlesian - and he doubts Dalish elves would make those even if they could -, but others have less vivid colors and extravagant decorations, dry biscuits that remind him of the calm fields of the Free Marches, tarts that resemble the ones elves make too when they can.

He glances at Nehn: she is speechless, for the first time since they started eating, and she refuses to move and take something, perhaps afraid to ruin the weird rolled slices of what looks like a little trunk with jam in it or the sugar flowers on top of a row of cute, pink little cakes.

He can see an odd, mysterious brown thing inside or on top most of those desserts: sometimes it’s a dense liquid, sometimes it’s hard, molded into different forms like spheres or hearts or even animals.

He tenses up when Scarlet starts filling his and Nehn’s plate with everything.

“Mamae, these are lemon tarts from Rivain. They are _delicious_. Oh, Papae, try this one, it’s warm inside!”

“ _Da’len_.” he whispers, not wanting to be heard by the others - by _Solas_. He points at the square cake she has just given him. “What is this brown thing that it’s leaking out?”

She giggles and cuts it in half: more liquid comes out and Athim grimaces. It looks… disturbing.

“It’s chocolate.” Scarlet explains and Nehn’s eyes get so large they occupy her entire face. “Straight from Antiva.”

“This is _chocolate_?” Athim gasps. He heard about it, of course, but it’s such a precious delicacy that Dalish elves rarely get to eat it, except for those who live near Antiva City. It’s a fabled ingredient, something craved by both adults and children who heard about its exquisiteness.

He looks at the cakes on the table with different eyes now: most of them are made of chocolate or have it as part of their ingredients. This goes beyond his wildest dreams; everything feels so surreal he isn’t sure he is still in the waking world.

Maybe all that food made him fall asleep and he is in the Fade.

“We usually don’t have so much chocolate in the kitchens.” Scarlet explains. “But there have been many Orlesian nobles in visit these days, so Josephine ordered a lot more.”

“I happen to be an expert on this too.” Dorian intervenes, smiling suavely. He is sitting next to Nehn and takes her hand, patting it affectionately. She giggles.

“Let me show you the best desserts, lady Nehn. There are cookies from Nevarra so hard you would ruin that beautiful mouth of yours.”

“They are not _that_ bad!” Scarlet tries to defend them, but Cassandra flatly admits: “You are right, Inquisitor. They are disgusting.” She grimaces as if she just remembered something bad. Maybe she ate too many of them when she was little.

“Well, then I gladly accept your offer, young man.” Nehn laughs, pinching Dorian’s cheek. He straightens his back, proud, and his mustache moves as his lips curl into a satisfied, happy grin.

As her mother is busy with Dorian - whom she probably considers a _shem_ son by now -, Scarlet focuses on her father, much to his joy. She shows him the best chocolate desserts and they share them with each other, occasionally participating to the other companions’ conversations or simply listening to them.

She tells him some more about the Elven ruins she encountered and his eyes move of their own accord to the Mark on her left hand: it looks like a faint scar, but green light shimmers in it occasionally, as if she has a piece of emerald etched into her flesh.

“Does it hurt?” he asks in a soft voice, taking her hand. It’s warm, calloused, just like he remembers it.

“Sometimes.” she admits with another of her lopsided smiles, the kind she uses to convince people she is fine even if she is worried or a bit sad. “It’s ancient elven magic. The orb Corypheus carries gave it to me when I touched it.”

“We should have never sent you to the Conclave.” Athim murmurs, voice rough with restrained tears. There is a painful lump in his throat and he bends his head to hide his glossy eyes.

“It changed our lives, but not necessarily for the worse.” she says and when he raises his head again, she gives him a gentle smile, tinted with affection.

“We are helping Thedas, not just by closing Rifts and killing Red Templars and Venatori. We are also changing so many wrong things that needed to be rectified.”

“I heard that there is an elf holding the reins of Orlais now.” Athim grins and pride for his kind and wise daughter helps soothe his worries.

“Shh, Papae!” Scarlet exclaims softly, grinning back. “Don’t give a heartattack to the poor nobles in visit!”

They laugh and he pulls her into a tight, one-armed hug, kissing her hair; the sensation to be back in the clan, nothing but trees and aravels around them, comes back. He is still holding her hand and looks at it again, tracing the Mark with his index finger.

He feels it thrum like a second heartbeat and the green light seems to become more vivid for a second, as if bothered or awakened by his touch.

“Ancient elven magic, huh.” he mumbles, his frown punctually returning.

“My body had to get used to it.” Scarlet says and from the sound of her voice and tone, he knows she must have suffered much. “And I think it will never accept it completely, but for now it’s not giving me problems.”

A smile appears on her face, different from the previous ones; Athim has seen this one too, today for the first time, and he nearly grumbles a curse when she adds:

“Solas soothes the pain or discomfort with his magic! He was the one who prevented it from killing me at Haven, you know? And now, when it stings or burns, he takes care of it and it all goes away in a few seconds!”

Athim hums, lips set into a straight, thin line, refusing to admit he appreciates that immensely.

Scarlet sighs, realizing he is upset, and pats his hand with infinite patience.

“Do you want to try the frilly cakes?” she then asks and he knows she is trying to change topic to make him relax and smile again, but her next words, pronounced with a happy, _delighted_ giggle, just makes him scowl harder: “Solas and I eat them every day! We wanted to make them, but they are way too complicated for us, so we made hearth cakes instead and…”

“You made hearth cakes?” Athim interrupts her, blinking. “Together?”

Making food together - especially hearth cakes - is considered romantic, almost a marriage proposal, in the clan Lavellan and others: it's an act that speaks of home, of the desire of domesticity and family. And judging by Scarlet’s smile and red cheeks, she is aware of that.

And Solas is too, because when Athim turns to look at him, he finds him watching his daughter with a tender expression.

“It surprises me that you accepted to do something so Dalish.” Athim smirks wryly and Solas’ face changes in the span of a few seconds, so much it’s almost frightening. His blue-gray eyes could drill a hole into the thick walls of Skyhold.

“I was not aware that _cooking_ was an exclusively Dalish activity.” he retorts coldly and Athim is barely aware of Scarlet tensing up next to him. They are going to argue again and she knows it, but he doesn’t want to stop nor will let her stop him.

“The recipe definitely is.” he insists with a scoff. “Did Scarlet tell you about its meaning? It’s a precious, respected dish. It means…”

“I know what it means.” Solas interrupts him, a sharp edge in his clear voice. “And that is exactly why I wanted to prepare them with her.”

He takes a small, carefully decorated cake and eats it in one gulp, munching it quickly, angrily, glaring at the table with offended ire.

Athim gloats, happy to have annoyed him, but when he turns to Scarlet, she is _livid_.

His face falls.

“What?” he exclaims and she groans, rolling her eyes. “ _What?_ I was just…!”

“I know what you were doing.” she cuts him off with an angry voice, hastily picking up some frilly cakes and putting them on his chocolate-smeared plate “Here, try them. At least you two won’t be able to argue with each other if your mouths are full.”

Both men look at her sheepishly, but she ignores them and turns to speak with Nehn and Dorian, who are currently discovering the magic flavor of cream. She is clearly upset, but hides it behind a smile that doesn’t quite reach her golden eyes.

Athim and Solas glares at each other and silently keep eating what’s on their plates.

The Dalish warrior uses that chance to speak more with Varric and Cassandra, the ones who are sitting closest to him. They have been discreet and polite and avoided listening to his argument with Solas and to his previous conversation with Scarlet about the Mark.

They ask him how the journey to Skyhold was, questions about the clan - and Varric even asks him if he can use some of those details for his books -, opinions about the Inquisition.

He answers while eating the frilly cakes Scarlet has given him: most of the time, he has to stop talking to savor those incredible tastes better. His mind has a hard time trying to understand what he is eating: everything is new, delicious, unlike the dry or less sugary sweets of the Dalish.

The meal is going to end soon, he can see it: the desserts are almost finished and only a few frilly cakes remain, cute and tasty on their special, colored tray.

One, in particular, caught his attention. All brown - so made of chocolate, right? - with delicate red hearts on top of the curls of white cream.

He wonders how the hearts taste like. They don’t look like cut fruit, but Orlesians seem to pretty good at this, so he isn’t sure. He thinks it would be a good thing to give to Nehn or Scarlet, so he decides that will be the last one he will take.

He looks away from it for a second, distracted by something that Dorian told Nehn, and when his eyes move back to the frilly cakes, his hand already reaching for the one with the hearts…

… They are all gone.

Solas is putting them inside a small and rectangular wooden box that a servant brought him: he carefully places the last one - the _chocolate_ one - inside it and closes the lid.

He meets Athim’s shocked stare and smiles, the pettiest, smuggest, most _annoying_ smirk the Dalish warrior has ever seen.

The _nerve_ this man has!

The servants are coming back to take the dishes and trays away and the companions slowly wake up from the trance caused by good food and company: the meal is over and everyone can go back to their own business with a full stomach and a content mind and heart.

Athim’s heart and mind are _not_ content, though.

He gets up with the others, ignoring Scarlet and Nehn laughing at Dorian’s jokes: he never stops glaring at Solas, even when the other elf stubbornly ignores him and pretends he isn’t even there.

He follows his wife and his daughter out of the space where the long tables are. The companions wish them a good rest, each in their own personal manner: Blackwall and Vivienne bow, Bull gives them another hug, Sera mumbles something and runs away, Varric and Cassandra smile and promise to eat together again the next day.

The Ambassador and the spymaster have arrived too and they apologize for their absence.

Athim barely listens to them: he watches as Solas heads towards a door near the throne - is that where Scarlet sits during her judgments? -, perfectly calm and serene, carrying safely the box in his hands.

He stops there, without opening the door, and turns to where they are, clearly waiting for them… for Scarlet?

“We had many things to prepare, but everything should be fine now.” Josephine is saying. She looks less nervous than before and her words are pronounced with clarity, without haste. “We put a second bed in Solas’ room, together with another wardrobe in case lord Athim wants to unpack his belongings.”

“Thank you.” he manages to say with a weak smile, still distracted by Solas’ presence far away. “I am sure I’ll be quite comfortable.”

“ _Da’vhenan_ , will you be fine with me in your bed?” Nehn asks Scarlet with concerned eyes, fidgeting. She looks almost embarrassed, not wanting to annoy her daughter with her presence, but Scarlet smiles at her and takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Of course, Mamae! I assure you, the bed is…” she stops and blinks, tensing up. When she smiles again, there are two red dots on her cheeks. “The bed is large enough for two people.”

“Ah.” Nehn gives her a smug, amused grin. “Direct experience, I presume?”

Athim wants to dig a hole and rot in it forever.

Leliana clears her throat with a smile before Scarlet can combust and says: “The Inquisitor’s quarters and all the other rooms are in the highest tower of Skyhold. This way, my lady.”

She and Josephine take them to the door where Solas is still waiting; Dorian goes with them as well, still busy talking with Nehn. He promises her he will make her and Athim visit the entire fortress as soon as she is awake.

“If you don’t mind, of course, my friend!” he hastily tells Scarlet, realizing just then that she might want to accompany her parents in that tour personally.

But she smiles and replies, patting his back: “I don’t mind at all. We could do it together.” She leans in and pokes his side, making him jump and snort. “So you won’t tell them any weird story about me!”

“What weird stories?” the Tevinter gasps, pretending not to know what she is talking about. “Oh! Like that time when you fell asleep in that storage room and all Skyhold panicked because we couldn’t find you?”

“I…!” She is about to say something, then changes her mind and mumbles sheepishly: “I wanted to get away from all those nobles.”

“Oh, _da’vhenan_!” Nehn kisses her temple. “You are so, so strong!”

“Indeed she is! Orlesian nobles are the worst. Not as bad as the Tevinter ones, but they are on par with our snobbish and holier-than-thou manners.”

They have reached the door and Solas smiles at Scarlet and focuses immediately on her as he steps away from the wall he was leaning onto.

“I have to retrieve some of my personal belongings I left in your quarters, _vhenan_.” he says without hesitation. He briefly glances at Athim, ignoring his livid expression, before turning to Josephine and Leliana: “I assume you will show lord Athim my room in the meantime.”

“Of course.” the spymaster replies. Her smile is hidden under her hood, but it’s not invisible. “We made sure everything was in order and comfortable for both of you, but it never hurts to check twice.”

So they go in, going up a huge staircase. Some parts of the tower still need to be repaired or repainted, but the stairs are in good conditions and Athim has all the time to glare at Solas’ back and wish for the umpteenth time that day he was a mage to set his sweater on fire.

The bald elf is partially hiding the box, holding it at his side and not with both hands like he was doing before. His free hand brushes against Scarlet’s and his fingers move to briefly catch hers, a timid gesture she reciprocates to show him she isn’t angry.

They reach a new floor, but stop before proceeding on the stairs: the companions’ room are here, in a large, clean corridor well illuminated. The Inquisitor’s quarters are up above, on the top of the tower, and that’s where Scarlet and Solas have to go.

“You go first, _da’len_. I will help Papae unpack his things.” Nehn says, still arm in arm with Dorian. Her smile is smug and roguish. “You will show me your room once you and Solas have finished getting what you need.”

“It will not take much time, lady Nehn.” he chuckles, but his cheeks are as red as Scarlet’s and her hand searches for his, grasping it.

“We will be back soon.” she says and they leave with one last smile.

Hand in hand, shoulders touching.

Despite his great curiosity to see Solas’ room and his desire to finally put away the heavy pack on his back, Athim would rather see what in the Creators’ name they are going to do in the quarters upstairs.

That man, alone with daughter just before leaving her for the night, for the first time since years…

Of course he will want to do _something_. Athim has been young too once and even though he has never been an expert on these things, he can recognize a hint when he sees one.

He will have to ask Nehn for help on these matters later.

For now, he follows the two advisors to Solas’ room, but an idea is already forming in his mind, simple and clever at the same time.

The room isn’t very big, but it’s warm and comfortable. He can see which one of the two beds has been just put there and the new wardrobe is large and tall, more than enough for storing the few things he has brought.

Josephine and Leliana tell him where the privy is - it takes him a few seconds to understand what they are talking about, since they don’t have a room built specifically for that in the clan. Pit latrines dug into the earth and then covered and filled with dirt and leaves, yes, but nothing as fancy as a closed space with water and paper.

The advisors respected Solas’ privacy and his things have not been touched nor they address them now as they show Athim the room.

However, Dorian makes an innocent comment about the neatness of his desk and Athim suspects he is trying to make the apostate elf look good.

He is a good friend to Scarlet, there is no doubt.

“Of course it’s tidy.” Athim retorts with a pout. “Considering he sleeps in _Scarlet_ ’s room and never comes here. His desk in the rotunda is a mess.”

“You should see the nook in the library where I study, my friend.” Dorian laughs, without missing a beat. “Books everywhere, ink staining the carpet… By the way, Josephine, we should have that cleaned.”

The Ambassador shoots him an exasperated look - it must have happened before then -, before changing topic with tactfulness and grace: “Lord Athim, if you need any help with your-”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” he replies with a smile, putting his pack on the second bed, then smacks his hand against his forehead.

“Damn it! I forgot another bag in the hall!”

Nehn frowns, confused; she knows he doesn’t have any second bag and he opens the door, stepping out of the room, before she can stop him.

“We can send someone, my lord!” Leliana tries to say, but he is already out in the corridor, hurry in his steps, an odd cheerfulness in his smile.

He knows he probably looks very creepy right now.

“There is no problem! No problem, really! These old legs can still walk a good mile!” He laughs and waves at his wife, whose glare could rival his: “Nehn, _vhenan_ , can you take care of my pack in the meantime?”

“Athim…”

He grins at her - Dorian _shudders_ \- and walks away, fast, quick, almost running, hoping nobody will call after him or follow him.

His bare feet make no sound on the floor and stairs and he is used to physical exercise, but his leg tends to hurt a lot after a while - the painful reminder of a bad fight with a boar.

Still, he reaches the top of the tower in little time and even if his leg is on fire, he isn’t breathing heavily and can walk to the last door without making any noise.

Scarlet and Solas left it ajar and he is able to peek into the room: he sees more stairs, leading up to what looks like an elegant room.

They are standing on top of those stairs, speaking. Athim sighs relieved: Solas’ hands are holding the box and are nowhere near his daughter’s body.

“For me?” she laughs, eyeing him with amusement and curiosity.

“It’s, ah… a gift to apologize for my manners.” Solas smiles sheepishly. “I took your favorites.”

Scarlet lifts the lid and another sweet laughter escapes her lips.

“I thought you could share them with your mother.” Solas continues and Athim doesn’t know him well, but he can see how nervous and ashamed he is. He is tense, his hands hanging stiff at his sides, and his eyes searches Scarlet’s face for any trace of discomfort or rage.

“But…” he clears his throat and points at the box. Athim can’t see it well, but then Scarlet reaches into it and takes out the frilly cakes with the cute hearts on it. “That one is for you only.”

She looks at him, her smile bigger than before, and hums.

Then she puts the frilly cake back into the box, closes it and places it on the marble balustrade of the stairs.

“Thank you.” she says softly. Her smile is more tender than before, Athim can see it even from there, and she is watching Solas from behind her long eyelashes, her fingers tracing the pattern on his sweater.

He rests his hands on her waist and leans closer, brushing his nose against hers. He takes his time: he is patient and is teasing her, but she is eager and lively - _and much younger_ , a part of Athim grumbles - and she throws her arms around him, laughing and crashing her mouth against his.

Solas stumbles backwards, but holds her tightly and chuckles into their kiss; it doesn’t last long, because she draws back, struck by a sudden thought.

“Solas.” she says, brow furrowing with worry. “Will you be alright with my father sleeping in your room?”

“Of course I will.” Solas smiles - _liar_ , Athim scoffs inwardly. He kisses her nose, then: “It will be fine, _vhenan_. I… I will try not to offend him, I promise.”

“I am sorry for what happened in the rotunda… and during dinner.” She sighs, resting her head on his shoulder and playing with the strings of the weird jawbone pendant he wears. “He is actually very kind and funny, once you get to know him.”

“I do not doubt it. But I understand why he might not like me.” Solas brushes his lips on her forehead and chuckles again. “Also, I believe he is jealous. Fathers tend to be very protective of their daughters.”

Jealous? He is not jealous! He is merely concerned about his daughter’s wellbeing!

Trying not to mumble under his breath, he watches Scarlet’s reaction: she blushes, then hides her face into Solas’ neck. Her mouth is still visible, though, and Athim sees her smile.

He knows what she is thinking about. She always loved children and the idea of family.

“I am sure you would be too.” she giggles and when Solas doesn’t reply, she explains: “Protective of your child, I mean.”

She can’t see Solas’ face, but Athim can and it’s _sad_. So sad and full of longing, despair, guilt, _hope_ , a mix of clashing emotions that the old Dalish elf can’t understand. Unless…

Oh. _Oh._

Solas presses another kiss on Scarlet’s hair, then pulls away - just a little - to look at her. Hope and love have replaced the negative emotions on his face and his smile is warm and sweet as he caresses her cheek.

“I think so too, _vhenan_.” he murmurs, voice thick, then swallows and changes topic: “I will need the clothes I brought here if I am going to sleep in my old room. My armor too.”

“And some of your books and notes. In case you and Papae want to ignore each other.” Scarlet sighs fondly, making Solas chuckle.

He cradles her face in his long fingers, watching her like she is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen in his life; she gets flustered and has to touch the strings of his pendant to look elsewhere, lips twitching and curling into a smile.

“I will miss you tonight, _vhenan_. And all the nights that will follow.” he murmurs, but something in his voice indicates that he is not referring to something physical only.

“I will miss you too.” she says, looking at him, now nostalgic and melancholic. He pulls her closer and kisses her right eye.

“This is for a good night full of beautiful dreams.” He places another kiss on her left eye, making her giggle, and says: “And this is for a good morning filled with light and joy.”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks, big, golden eyes lost into blue and gray ones. He nods and whispers before kissing her on the lips:

“Always, _vhenan_.”

Athim silently steps away from the door and heads back downstairs. There is no deep frown, no furrowed brow, no glare, no scowl on his face.

He walks slowly, thinking about what he has seen and heard, and his heart feels heavier and lighter at the same time. There are many questions swirling in his mind, but for now he will keep them there, hoping to understand what confuses him so.

He saw love in that man’s eyes and gestures. He saw himself and Nehn, back when they were younger and life was easier to comprehend, back when there were no holes in the sky and they would run into the forest to kiss and spend time together.

And finally, after debating it with himself for so long, Athim decides to give Solas a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athim is going to ask many questions and Solas won't approve none of them.
> 
> Their pyjama party is gonna be awesome ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Athim and Nehn Lavellan visit their daughter Scarlet at Skyhold. They meet her companions and everything goes well. They meet Solas and (almost) everything sucks. 
> 
> Nehn likes Solas. Athim doesn't like him that much, but he is willing to change his opinion on him. Solas wants to cry. He wants to cry even more when he is forced to share a room with Scarlet's old man. Their pyjama party is kind of intense, but they really want to find common ground and become friends, also to avoid incurring Scarlet's fury, tears, and disappointment.
> 
> Hopefully they will manage to figure this out.

Athim goes back to Solas’ room: Josephine and Leliana are gone, but Nehn and Dorian are still there.

The human is helping her unpack Athim’s less personal stuff and put it in the new wardrobe that has been brought.

They are joking and the Tevinter is making a list of all the places he wants to show her. Skyhold sounds indeed like a rich, interesting place.

As soon as Athim enters, Nehn shoots him a so heated glare it could burn the entirety of the Dales like a dragon’s fire. He is of course carrying no second bag or pack like he said and Dorian quirks an eyebrow, his odd mustache doing nothing to hide his smirk.

“I was wrong.” Athim admits with sincerity, shrugging and smiling at his wife. “Thank you, _vhenan_. I’ll take care of these now.”

“I swear to Mythal, Athim, if you went to…”

“I did not!” he lies, even pretending to be shocked by such an idea. “I really went to look for my bag in the hall! I was sure I had a second one, I don’t know why.” He turns to Dorian, his smile too bright like before he left the room. “Must be old age.”

“Of course.” the human candidly agrees, knowing as well as Nehn where he truly went.

The woman doesn’t have time to scold her husband because Scarlet and Solas arrive just in that moment.

He is carrying his stuff - various sweaters, pants, his armor, and his pyjamas, as well as his staff strapped to his back; Scarlet has his books and notes, a neat, voluminous pile whose titles Athim cannot read or pronounce.

“Papae, do you have everything you need?” she asks and he nods, his smile turning normal and sweet. Nehn and Dorian unpacked only minor things and now he starts to take care of his second pair of pants and the other shirt he brought, which he already wore - and consequently washed - during the trip to Skyhold.

He and Nehn didn’t bring much in terms of outfits. They don’t need many in the clan and trips like the one they made - with less than five people headed to a distant destination - are extremely rare.

Actually, the first one was Scarlet’s, the day she went to the Conclave.

He still remembers that day with fear. His worry for her made him fall ill: a high fever, punctually followed by Nehn’s tears every day and every night.

Scarlet said that day changed their life, but not for the worse. He doesn’t know what to think, but he saw her being treated and respected like a queen, she has many friends and apparently this Solas loves her more than life itself.

So he has to agree with her, although the green shimmer on her hand will give him trouble sleeping at night.

“Well, then. We will leave you boys put away your things in peace.” Nehn announces, picking up her pack. She turns to Scarlet with an excited grin. “ _Da’len_ , we brought gifts from the clan! Your friends and Keeper Deshanna wanted you to receive them. They are in my bag, I’ll give them to you later.”

“Dalish blankets.” Athim reminds her, grimacing when he touches the covers of the second bed the servants brought in the room. “Nothing like this _shem_ stuff.”

“Yes, Papae.” Scarlet sighs fondly, kissing his cheek. “Please promise me you won’t sleep on the cold floor.”

He harrumphs and that’s promise enough for her, because she laughs, kisses his cheek again and wishes him goodnight,  then turns to Solas. She presses a smooch on his lips and whispers something Athim cannot hear; Solas smiles, nods, and squeezes her hand before wishing her and Nehn good dreams.

“Goodnight, dear!” Nehn replies warmly, already arm in arm with Dorian, who is going to accompany her and Scarlet to her quarters. She shoots another glare at Athim and her tone changes imperceptibly: “Rest well, _vhenan_.”

His smile is too cheerful again and the Tevinter looks terrified.

“You too, girls.”

As soon as the door closes, his smile disappears, but his scowl doesn’t replace it. He looks at Solas with a blank, if not thoughtful, face, watching him put his armor and staff away and tidy up the books and notes on his desk.

Then the bald elf goes to his old wardrobe and puts the few clothes he brought there, leaving out only what look like a clean pair of pants and a smooth long-sleeved shirt with familiar sewn motifs around the collar.

“Did Scarlet make that one?” Athim asks, squinting his eyes, and Solas smiles and nods. A blush tints his cheeks as he tenderly pats the shirt.

“One of the many clothes for the night she sewed for me.”

The tiniest of smile curls Athim’s lips, but he hides it by turning to the new wardrobe to put his equipment there.

“She always loved sewing, just like her mother.”

He doesn’t see Solas’ loving smile.

“She is quite talented.”

“She is.”

The two men stay in silence for a short time: Solas changes clothes and chooses a book to read before sleep, Athim takes off his gear and the heaviest parts of his Dalish armor to rest better.

He doubts he will get much sleep, though. The more he looks at that bed, the more he wants to go out and lie down on familiar, _normal_ grass.

He pokes the mattress and finds it to be too squishy. The blanket and sheets are heavy, suitable for the cold weather of Skyhold, but they are very different from what they use in the clan and his skin gets itchy just looking at them.

And the pillow! The pillow is so soft and light that he suspects it’s actually empty or filled with just a bit of cotton.

He grumbles and sits on the edge of the bed, grimacing. He doesn’t get up, though, and pretends everything is fine. He starts untying his leather bracers, back turned to Solas, who is still choosing which book to read.

Elgar’nan scorches him if he acts like a baby in front of him. He is not going to make a scene just because this _shemlen_ bed deeply disturbs him.

The room is another source of discomfort. It’s not excessively small, but it isn’t big either and these four walls are making him nervous. It’s so very different from the aravels, which are closed and open at the same time, good for protection against the outside, but also ready to welcome the sounds of the forest and the field, of the birds singing at dawn and the wind blowing at night.

Surrounded by all this stone, he hears nothing and his hunter instincts tell him that so much silence is wrong. His Dalish habits, deeply ingrained in him, find no outlet here: where is the smell of grass and soil? Where are the noises made by the other members of the clan? Why does he have to put his armor into that wardrobe and not leave it at his feet, in case a predator or _shemlen_ arrive and he has to put it on immediately?

He hears Solas sitting down on his bed, which creaks loudly; the bald elf pats the pillow resting against the headboard, then lies down, adjusts himself and begins reading.

There are various candles lit around the room and the small fireplace in a corner of it is providing much light and warmth, so Athim assumes he can read without hurting his eyes too much. He lazily keeps unlacing his bracers, taking more time than necessary, and stays quiet.

“If the light bothers you, _hahren_ , tell me. I will keep just one candle lit on my nightstand.” Solas suddenly says, making him almost jump. Not wanting to appear impolite - and hurt Scarlet -, Athim civilly thanks him and assures him it doesn’t bother him.

It does. It does a lot. He isn’t used to so much light; they usually avoid keeping so many candles in the aravels, since fire can easily damage or destroy them. Sleeping with even a single small flame burning is considered a tremendous idiocy.

He doesn’t tell him that, though. He knows things probably work differently here and he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction to see him so worried.

He finally unlaces his second bracer and now he doesn’t have any more excuses to delay his full meeting with the bed. He places the braces on his nightstand, takes a deep breath, and lies down, resting his head on the abnormally soft pillow.

He grimaces again and a groan escapes him.

Even without turning his head, he knows Solas is looking at him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks and he even manages to use a concerned tone.

“Yes, thank you.” Athim replies through gritted teeth. There is an empty space under his bed, right? No wonder _shemlen_ die so often in their sleep, assassinated or attacked during the night. He feels like a sword down there is ready to pierce through the mattress and skewer him.

“Is the bed not comfortable?”

Now Solas’ tone is _smug_. Just a little bit, not much to be considered rude, but enough to make Athim glare at the ceiling.

“It’s perfect.” he lies. “Couldn’t have asked for something better.”

Solas chuckles and this time the sound is amused and somewhat sympathetic.

“Scarlet told me she hated it too at first. She spent her first night at Haven on the floor.”

“She was scared. Far from home and surrounded by crazy _shem_ who either thought she was a monster or the herald of their dead prophetess.” Athim sighs, shaking his head, and continues: “I’m not sure being Inquisitor is much better, but at least she looks happy.”

This is the right time to face the topic he wants to discuss with Solas. He turns to look at him and sees him watch him with a sad gaze, a deep understanding. He too must be worried for Scarlet and Athim appreciates that.

Still, they have to talk about this and he puts a hard wall of stone around his heart, deciding to be soft during this conversation only if necessary.

Solas speaks before he can start and his voice is soft, almost a whisper, which the small room doesn’t let wander outside.

“Being Inquisitor is indeed harder than being the herald of a dead prophetess. It means everyone - not just the faithful or the believers - are counting on her.” Solas looks back at his book, turning slowly one page. He isn’t really seeing it. “She faced many terrible things, yet she still fights and endures. Your daughter is a formidable woman.”

“I know that.” Athim replies, pride in his voice, soon accompanied by fierceness. “This is why we need to talk. You are hiding something.”

Solas pales - the Dalish elf is sure of that -, but betrays no emotion. He turns to him and asks, his tone mild and controlled:

“What are you talking about, _hahren_?”

Athim narrows his eyes and sits up, ignoring the strands of brown and gray hair falling near his face.

Solas sighs, closes the book, puts it on the nightstand, and sits properly on the edge of the bed.

“Please explain yourself.” He frowns and adds, his tone more heated: “Do you still have doubts about my past? Or my studies?”

Athim mimics him, frowning when the mattress wobbles under him. He isn’t really comfortable with his feet so close to that dark, empty space under the bed, but Solas’ intense stare helps him not think about it.

He takes a deep breath. This is a delicate topic, one that probably doesn’t concern him. He feels like it _does_ , though, and his daughter’s happiness comes before anything else. He has no time to worry about tactfulness and discretion.

So he locks eyes with the man in front of him and says, slowly, pronouncing each word with clarity:

“You can’t have children, can you?”

Solas’ expression changes so fast Athim barely has time to acknowledge it.

His eyes widen, he pales even more, and his mouth opens and closes without sound. His hands, which he has kept on his lap until now, are clawing the sheets, long fingers digging into them.

“Mh.” Athim raises his chin, resignation and a strange bitterness pooling in his stomach. “I knew it. I saw your face when Scarlet mentioned kids.”

Solas tenses up and another emotion, much similar to fury, passes over his face.

“You _followed_ us to our rooms?” he hisses, putting much emphasis on that ‘our’. Athim doesn’t like it, but he decides not to discuss that… for now.

“I was worried.” he admits without problems. Then he groans, waving off Solas’ rage with an annoyed gesture of his hand. “Oh, stop it! I didn’t stay long! Just enough to see you make that face when you talked about children!”

“I made no face.”

“Liar. You were sad and guilty and I know why.” Athim points at him with his index finger and Solas glances at it as if it was a spear. “It’s because you can’t give her children, right? Too old for that now, so you feel bad whenever she mentions them.”

Rage remains on Solas’ face and color slowly spreads back on his face. He is livid, but Athim doesn’t relent.

“That is not true.” Solas insists, glaring. “You completely misunderstood, _hahren_.”

“Then _why_ did you look like that?” Athim snarls, provoking another effect in Solas: his face falls and he averts his eyes, tightening his grip on the sheets. It lasts only a second, but Athim notices it the same. He sighs heavily.

“Listen. Scarlet always wanted a family. She loves children. She has loved the idea of having some of her own since she was grown enough to understand what it meant.”

He stops when he notices another change in the other man.

Solas looks positively _miserable_.

Despite the wall he put around his heart, Athim can’t help but soften, forgetting about his initial intention of remaining cold and distant to better discuss this matter. He continues, sharing the bald elf’s pain:

“I know my daughter well enough to be sure of what kind of life she wishes to have with you. I bet that wasn’t the first time you talked about children. I bet she proposed to you the idea of having a family together in some way or another.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’m sure she already thought about some names. She is like that.”

Solas stays quiet, but his silence is all the answer Athim needs. He folds his arms and shakes his head.

“She loves you and she will love you even if you can’t give her what she desires. But if that’s true, then you have to tell her _now_. Don’t deceive her promising what you cannot give her. Don’t bring up family, kids, and parenthood if you know that’s impossible.”

Athim sighs and a plea, sincere and prompted by fatherly love and worry, fills his eyes and voice.

“Please, tell her now before it’s too late! She will understand, she won’t stop loving you, but at least she won’t delude herself anymore!”

“I…” Solas’ voice is a low, hoarse croak. He swallows while looking down at his feet, breathes heavily, then raises his head again to lock eyes with Athim.

“I can give her children. I am not sterile and I am not too old to have a family with her.”

Athim frowns, confused, then he gasps. Does that mean…?

“Dread Wolf takes you!” he shouts, springing up, heart running wild in his chest. “Is she _pregnant_?”

“ _What?_ ” Solas splutters, instinctively drawing back since the distance between their beds isn’t much. “ _No_! No, it’s not that!”

“Then how do you know you can give her children?” Athim insists, hoping his glare is as terrifying as he is trying to make it be. “You can’t know that for sure!”

“I just know it! I am not sterile and my age has no influence on this!”

The Dalish warrior studies him carefully, while another terrible doubt creeps into his heart.

“Did you…” he starts, causing Solas to groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Did you two try to have a baby before?”

“No!”

“Did it fail? Did she lose the baby?” Fear invades Athim’s heart, but part of him knows it’s impossible. Scarlet looked happy, while such a trauma would have profoundly changed her and left her scarred.

In fact, Solas shakes his head again, exasperated. Athim sighs relieved and gingerly sits back on the bed.

His relief doesn’t last much. He goes back to the main topic and narrows his eyes at Solas, suspicious.

“Did you have a child with someone else?”

Solas looks at him with so much fury he instinctively raises his hands defensively. The air is crackling with energy, no doubt coming from the mage.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Athim hesitates, but he has to insist. “Then _how_ do you know-”

“Enough!” Solas shouts. “I can feel it thanks to my magic! My body isn’t ill and I am not too old!”

He calms down, takes a deep breath, and clears his throat. “We use spells or potions to avoid conception.”

“… Why did you make that face, though? You can’t tell me you are not hiding…”

Solas snarls and quickly gets up, angrily gesticulating with his arms and hands to vent.

“Why is talking with you so _difficult_?” he exclaims, pacing around the room. He occasionally glances at Athim, angry and incredulous at the same time. “Do you enjoy misunderstanding me so much? Do you want me to be a monster or a useless, dangerous, corrupting man at all costs?”

Athim bristles and heatedly replies: “I did not say…!”

“I have been called many things in my life, _hahren_.” Solas interrupts him, stopping pacing and watching him with dark, sad, hurt eyes. “Whatever your opinion on me, I am used to it and there is very little that can upset me now.”

It’s a lie. Athim can see how much he is affected, but Solas pretends he is not and holds his chin high, fists closed at his sides.

“I do not consider you a monster.” the Dalish elf slowly says and it’s true, he does not and he didn’t want the conversation to go this way.

He hesitates, then the words leave his mouth before he can think twice about it. “You _can_ be a corrupting influence for Scarlet, though.”

“Why? Because I teach her written Elvhen? Because I show her beautiful memories and dreams in the Fade?” Solas makes a sound full of disdain. “There were never lies and corruption in my lessons with her.”

“This is what _you_ say.” Athim retorts, anger building inside him again. “You learned those things in the Beyond, from spirits and twisted old memories! How can you even trust what you see and hear there?”

“This is not the place nor the hour to explain it to you.” Solas picks the book he left on the bed and tosses it on his desk, his face grim. “Are you finished? May I go to sleep now?”

“If you weren’t feeling bad about children, then why did you make that face?” Athim ignores him, beating his fist on the bed. “I saw it! You are hiding something from Scarlet and I don’t like it!”

“Goodnight, _hahren_.” Solas says and the candles and fireplace are blown out with a flick of his wrist.

Athim splutters some curses under his breath and hastily slips his feet back under the sheets, fearing the darkness lurking under his bed.

He gets anxious. He didn’t want to offend Solas. He was actually hoping to finally find some common ground with him and improve their relationship for Scarlet’s sake.

He exaggerated, he is aware of that, but he didn’t do it out of malice or hatred. He is…

He is just very concerned and scared.

His daughter is the leader of the most powerful organization in Thedas and her life is in danger every day. Soon he and his wife will have to go back to the clan and they won’t be here to help their _da’vhenan_.

He has to be sure she is with the right people, good friends who can protect her and support her.

He has to be sure the man she chose as her mate won’t hurt her and make her life even more difficult than already is.

He decided to give Solas a chance. He saw the first proofs of how good his and Scarlet’s love can be, he just wants to…

He lets out an anguished sigh and his golden eyes, glistening in the dark like two embers, find Solas’. The bald elf is laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, one hand on his chest, the other resting at his side.

“Solas.” he calls, not hiding the pain in his voice. Humility is his name, a wish from his parents which became reality, and he has no shame in showing his emotions and fears.

Solas turns his head to him, eyes widening because he heard the slight shake in his voice. He doesn’t sit up, but his gray-blue gaze is kinder and his silence isn’t as heavy as before.

“I am sorry.” Athim says with sincerity, wringing his old, calloused, scarred hands on his lap. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He looks at the wall in front of his bed, bare and solid, and his voice gets low, almost a whisper which echoes like a scream in the small, quiet room.

“I am scared. Scared of losing my daughter, of seeing her hurt or worse.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and shakes his head. “This is new and frightening for us. We Dalish aren’t used to all this… attention. We keep to ourselves, without meddling in human business. But now Scarlet is leading this organization and I fear for her. I…”

He sighs, frustrated. Words don’t come easily to him in situations like this and he is suddenly self-conscious, aware of the knowledge Solas possesses. Even if he learned half of it in the Fade, his intelligence in general cannot be denied and his way of speaking and his manners are elegant and refined.

Part of Athim is finally happy that his daughter chose a brilliant man as her mate… although he still doesn’t believe Solas’ knowledge about elven culture is reliable and accurate.

He wonders if he can fight well. There was a young hunter in another clan who would have been good for…

No, he promised to give this man a chance. Scarlet trusts him and loves him and so he will try to do the same. The fact that he managed to find good qualities in him within the first day already means a lot.

“ _Hahren_?” Solas calls and Athim sighs, shakes his head, and even attempts to shoot him a smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to make this too emotional.” He lies down, tensing up when the bed creaks and moves with him. His back doesn’t like the softness of the mattress and his neck already aches.

“I’ll never get used to this.” he grumbles. He sees Solas stiffen out of the corner of his eye and realizes his words can have a double-meaning he never meant to give them.

He sighs again and says gently: “Goodnight, Solas. Don’t let the Dread Wolf catch you in your dreams.”

“I will try not to. Goodnight, _hahren_.”

There was a smile in his voice, Athim heard it, and he thinks their conversation hasn’t ended so badly after all.

He blinks, a sudden thought sparking in his mind, and slowly asks, unsure how this works: “Are you going to enter the Beyond, then? Walking through it completely aware of yourself and your dreaming state?”

“Yes.” Solas’ voice replies from the darkness. He doesn’t sound annoyed. “I often visit old memories or interesting zones of the Fade. The spirits help me find them.”

“That’s… nice.” There, he said it. He is not going to lie more to appease him.

Solas chuckles, clearly knowing he really didn’t mean that, but he appreciates his attempt all the same.

“Thank you. I wonder what dreams we will find tonight. Your presence might influence them.”

Athim groans, hoping - _praying_ \- he won’t see anything personal or private. Then he frowns.

“… We?”

Cold, dead silence falls and he turns his head to where Solas is. He is still laying on his back, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. His hands are clawing the sheets again.

Athim glares at him.

“Please tell me you don’t bring Scarlet in the Fade. _Please_.”

A heartbeat passes, then Solas replies softly, almost timidly: “The Anchor does that. It lets her dream with incredible focus even though she isn’t a mage.”

“ _You_ … _!_ ” The Dalish warrior splutters, then covers his face with both hands, and forces himself not to jump out of bed and strangle him.

His daughter, walking through the Fade where demons and Creators know what else can hurt her or twist her mind. His daughter, visiting memories and seeing… _things_ with this middle-aged, bald elf who thinks he knows everything about elven lore and culture.

_'Positive qualities, Athim. Think about his positive qualities.'_

“It’s perfectly safe.” Solas hurries to say, then adds heatedly, almost indignant: “I would _never_ put her in danger.”

Athim sighs and looks at the ceiling through his fingers, trying to calm himself down. Then he scowls again and thinks that his wrinkles are going to get so much worse after this visit.

“Do you… Do you do _other_ things there, apart from seeing dreams and talking with spirits?”

Solas’ silence is answer enough and he nearly sobs.

He can’t stop him from entering the Fade and meeting Scarlet there. He can’t be there with them, stopping Solas from putting his hands where he shouldn’t. He can’t make sure everything will go well.

His face snaps back at Solas and he growls: “Don’t you even _dare_ touch her while you two are there! I swear I will kick you out of the bed and _behead_ you if I hear even a single moan or… or…”

He snarls, thumping his closed fist against his forehead while Solas discreetly fixes his sheets and adjusts himself in the bed.

His expression is surprisingly blank and emotionless, although Athim’s eyes are still good enough to notice his flushed face.

“I guess I can’t really stop you.” he mutters. He rolls on his side, making a disgusted noise when the bed wobbles again, and pulls the covers up to his nose.

“I seriously hope you don’t snore.”

He sees Solas bristle and look awfully offended.

“I do _not_.”

“Good. One less thing to worry about.”

Athim is directly looking at him now, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind too much. He has closed his eyes and his breathing is getting slower, even.

Athim sighs, mumbles a night prayer to Falon’Din, and tries to get some sleep.

 _‘… Wait. Nehn always says_ I _snore like a druffalo when I sleep on my back!’_

Slowly, the old warrior goes back to his initial position. Even though the pillow is too soft and his neck hurts, even though his back isn’t used to this mattress and aches, he will endure.

Hopefully he will be loud enough to keep Solas awake or at least bother him.

He promised to give him a chance, not an easy time.

Smirking, Athim closes his eyes and waits for the Beyond to come for him too.

 

\- - - -

 

Solas can’t sleep.

Not only his old room feels unfamiliar after so many nights spent in Scarlet’s. Her father is also terribly, _maddeningly_ loud.

His snoring fills the small bedroom like the growling of a wolf. The sounds are never the same: sometimes he whistles, sometimes he inhales and sighs, sometimes he just snores, snores, and _snores_ until Solas’ head hurts and his hands itch.

He wants to set his bed on fire.

He isn’t sure how many hours have passed. It’s like time isn’t flowing at all and that’s not something he can appreciate in this particular situation.

He can’t enter the Fade. He can’t meet Scarlet there. They are going to skip their usual stroll in the beautiful landscapes he finds for her, their nocturnal date, for the first time in almost two full years.

The mere thought of it drives him mad.

Is it going to be like this every night until her parents leave? Will he be denied to see her and hug her even in the world of spirits?

Will he ever be able to fall _asleep_ , with this man sleeping in his room, a man who apparently still doesn’t trust him and considers him a source of corruption for his daughter?

Solas groans. He wants to like Athim, he really does, and he believes he _is_ starting to appreciate and admire him more, after the heartfelt conversation they had tonight.

There are many differences between them and Athim’s love and concern for Scarlet make things even more difficult, but there is hope. That love and concern is the common ground they were looking for and he prays there are other elements that will help them become friends.

However, it’s still too _soon_ to be fond of the awful noises that leave Athim’s mouth. It’s still too soon to pretend he isn’t deeply bothered by them.

Solas whimpers as the old Dalish warrior lets out a cacophony of gurgles. He shuts his eyes close, presses the pillow hard against his ears and tries to use some meditation techniques.

The only thing he manages to think about is his conversation with Athim.

He fears for Scarlet too. He fears the Anchor slowly consuming her, held back only by his presence and weak power; he fears the countless enemies they have, their blades, their arrows, and their spells aimed at her heart; he fears the plots and intrigues against her.

He is _terrified,_ and tonight he can’t even hold her in his arms.

Children. He thinks about children. Solas knows what expression Athim saw on his face. He knows perfectly what Scarlet desires. They even talked about it, timid words whispered in their cozy bed, names written on pieces of paper, house maps drawn with charcoal, longing gazes when maids, servants, and refugees brought their kids and newborns in the stronghold.

He bites his lips, eyes stinging, and fears the future. He thinks about what it holds and what it _doesn’t_ hold. He imagines millions of different outcomes , millions of different scenes, and his heart beats faster or doesn’t beat at all depending on how they end.

He imagines Scarlet holding their firstborn and tears run freely down his cheeks.

The snoring in the room is so deafening he doesn’t even hear the door open. He senses a familiar presence, though, and hastily sits up.

A strange light enters from the corridor through a narrow slit: it’s the warm yellow of a flame, but there is also sharp green mixed to it.

A feminine figure peeks into the room and gasps.

Solas relaxes immediately and relief and surprises tint his cheeks.

“ _Vhenan_?” he calls and Scarlet fully opens the door and enters the room.

She is using the Anchor to illuminate her steps. The warm orange light is coming from the torches in the corridor that are still burning.

She mumbles something and shakes her head seeing her father snore like that, then smiles at Solas, waving her left hand. The light of the Anchor leaves an emerald blur in the air.

“What are you doing here?” Solas asks, one foot already on the cold ground. He wants to go to her. He wants to go to her so badly it almost hurts.

“Mamae and I talked a bit, then we fell asleep, and I dreamed.” Scarlet starts, approaching his bed so he can hear her better. She is wearing a candid white nightgown and her favorite shawl, the yellow one, is covering her shoulders.

His hands immediately reach out for her. He rests them on her hips and looks up at her, his gaze tender, his anxieties and fears soothed by her presence.

Is he dreaming? It feels like a dream.

“Then I woke up because my mom tosses a lot in bed and I realized you hadn’t visited me in the Fade.” She sighs, glancing back at Athim. “I feared you and Papae were punching each other, so I came to check you out.”

Solas chuckles and pulls her closer until she is standing between his legs. He kisses her collarbone and says: “Do no worry, _vhenan_. We actually had a civil conversation.”

“Really?” She gasps and beams at him. There are happiness and pride in her eyes as she replies: “That’s great, Solas! You two are already making progress!”

She kisses the top of his head, laughing softly, and he melts.

Her small breasts are right in front of his face and he wants to press his face against them and kiss her there. He knows she likes it when he gives attention to her chest, which she considers too flat.

Silly girl.

Then Athim ruins all the magic with a sound that could rival a dragon’s roar.

Solas snarls, his mouth just a few inches from Scarlet’s chest. He glares at the Dalish warrior and Scarlet laughs again.

“Look. I will show you a trick.” she whispers, grinning excitedly. First she opens his old wardrobe, where a second pillow is kept, then she goes to her father and gently nudges him, careful not to awaken him.

Athim grumbles and mumbles, but then he slowly rolls on his side and the noise finally subsides, until it’s gone. Scarlet slips the pillow between his arms; her father hugs it, rubs his face on it and stays still, quietness finally restored.

“He thinks he’s hugging Mamae. They always sleep like this at night. She stops tossing and he stops snoring.” she explains and Solas smiles at her, gratefulness and more relief in his tired eyes.

He sighs happily: his ears have finally stopped ringing.

“Thank you, _ma sa’lath_.”

She smiles and motions him to follow her outside in the corridor. He does so without hesitating, quietly closing the door behind so Athim won’t be bothered by their voices.

“Are you sure everything went fine?” she asks, eyeing him worriedly. Solas smiles, nods, but Scarlet doesn’t look convinced.

“Your eyes are red. Did he say something bad or…?”

Oh. He forgot he was crying just before she entered the room. He knows his face isn’t wet anymore, but his eyes still feel stingy and it’s not surprising that Scarlet noticed something.

“I am fine. It must be the… ah, lack of sleep.” He shoots a glare at the door and she giggles, raising herself on her tip-toes to kiss his forehead.

“My poor _vhenan_.” she coos. Then she frowns and folds her arms, eliciting a sound of distress from Solas, who can’t hug her like this.

“I told you this was a bad idea. To be honest, I was ready to see this part of the tower _explode_.” She sighs and rests her right hand on his cheek. Solas leans into the touch and kisses her palm. “Mamae and I can’t be there to refrain you two from leaping at each other’s throat. This could ruin any hope for a good relationship between you and Papae.”

“It will not.” Solas replies with a reassuring smile. “I told you, we had a nice conversation. It might not have started well, but it ended fine.”

_‘… I think.’_

“Also,” he adds, his smile broader, “I doubt your father will let me sleep back in your rooms while he is here.”

Scarlet hums, raising an eyebrow, but then she smiles too and seems comforted.

“You are right. Perhaps this experience will help you stubborn men be less stubborn.”

The Anchor is still shimmering brightly on her hand; she is able to control it, more or less, but it was not made for her and the magic in her flesh often refuses to listen to her.

She shakes her hand up and down, as if she was extinguishing a match or small flame, but the Mark stays lit, illuminating the corridor with its green hues.

“ _Fenedhis_.” she grumbles, studying closely the scar on her palm and prodding it with her index finger. “Why doesn’t it want to listen now?”

“Language.” Solas chides her, using a solemn face that doesn’t fool her one bit. “Let me see it.”

He caresses her palm with his fingertips, whispering elven words and directing his magic on the Mark. It fizzles for a few seconds, then the light gently dies out and the scar goes back to its dormant state.

“Thank you!” Scarlet exclaims. Just to be sure, he uses a healing spell to soothe any discomfort she might feel, then gives her a pointed look.

“It is better not to use it like this, _vhenan_. You could burn your flesh or cause the Anchor to burst. Closing Rifts is already a tiring activity, you do not need to tease it and use its magic further.”

“I am sorry.” she sighs, observing her hand with a resigned look. “I just wanted to see where I was going without stumbling on any stone. I didn’t have any candle and not all the torches in the corridors are lit.”

Solas looks at her, at her delicate hand, at her thoughtful face and the red locks of hair falling near it, at her big, kind eyes and her yellow shawl.

He remembers what Athim said and the fears haunting him before strike him again.

“My love.” he says softly, pressing his forehead on hers and taking her right hand. “Come. Let me accompany you back to your quarters.”

He summons an orb of light to guide them along the corridors and stairs and Scarlet chuckles, squeezing his hand as they walk.

“Such a gentleman.” she teases him, kissing his cheek. “Mamae likes you a lot, you know?”

He makes a low, disbelieving sound, the tips of his ears getting red.

“It’s true! She said you look kind and wise.” She blushes and adds timidly: “And passionate.”

Solas hums and gives her an amused smile; she reacts to it with a scoff, rolling her eyes, but she laughs when he says: “Your mother is an observant woman.”

“Well, I refrained from giving her too many details. She is clever enough to know what we… uh…” she stops, suddenly bashful. “… what we do.”

“Oh?” Solas stops at the end of the corridor with a quirk of his eyebrow and an even bigger smile. “And _what_ do we do exactly, _vhenan_?”

Scarlet pouts at him, knowing perfectly where he wants to get at. Then she snorts and a timid, but also playful smile curls her lips.

“Do you want me to draw you a diagram? Some explanatory sketches?” She gasps, as if struck by a genial idea. “Oh! I could lend you some of my books! There is one in particular you may find useful.”

“Really? What is it?”

He comes closer, but she doesn’t step back, letting her chest bump against his. She grins at him.

“ _The Rogue Way: How To Find The Right Hole_.”

Solas blinks. Scarlet giggles. Then they burst into laughter, forgetting about the guest rooms that surround them. Only when the sound starts to echo loudly in the corridor, they muffle it behind their hands.

Warmth spreads all over Solas’ chest and face and he takes Scarlet into his arms, chuckling and giggling against her neck as she does the same.

Then she grabs his arm and leads him to a near door. He almost stops her, believing they are entering some guest room - and he knows they are all occupied, the main reason he had to share a room with Athim in the first place.

But she knows Skyhold better than he does at this point, because she brings him into a small closet where the servants keep clean sheets and pillows.

The orb of light follows them and she closes the door, turning back to Solas with a bright smile.

“ _Vhenan_ …” he chuckles and then she does something that blocks any sensible thought in his mind.

She takes off her nightgown, drops it on the ground with her shawl, and stands before him wearing only her breastband and smalls.

Despite all the times he saw her naked or half-naked, Solas _gapes_ at her.

He stares until his mouth gets dry and she giggles, then she completely breaks him: she removes her breastband too and the next thing Solas knows is that he is kneading her breasts while sucking her lips and tongue.

He rubs his hips against hers, looking for friction; his dick is hard, pressing through the pants of his pyjamas and she whimpers happily every time it bumps between her legs.

“You know, that book…” she starts suddenly, panting in his ear. “It’s actually real. It’s… it’s not about sex, though.”

Solas stops and pulls away to look at her. She is blushing and babbling and her boldness is quickly being replaced by her usual shyness.

“I… I mean, it’s a manual for rogues, but Dorian pointed out how ambiguous the title sounded, so…” She groans and thumps her forehead against his shoulder. “Creators! Please, ignore me, just… just forget about this conversation!”

But Solas is laughing again and he peppers her face with quick pecks, cradling it in his calloused hands.

“I love you.” he says, using the Common Tongue. He wants to shout it in thousand different languages. He wants to write it in the ether, in the sky, in the earth, and let everyone, both in the waking world and the Fade, know.

She beams at him, dimples on her flushed cheeks, and Solas repeats those three words one, two, three more times and then she says them too - “I love you, Solas, I love you” -, until the only sounds that leave their mouths are moans and gasps.

Solas’ pants join Scarlet’s nightgown on the floor and two of his fingers begin to tease her slick entrance - half-covered by the smalls she is still wearing -, while her hand rubs his hard manhood.

“Your father would kill me if he saw us like this.” he pants, then lets out an undignified yelp when Scarlet strokes his dick harder.

“ _Solas_.” She looks horrified. “Please, don’t mention my father in a moment like this.”

Then she gasps, but not out of pleasure. She looks even more horrified than a few seconds before.

“Did he _threaten_ you?”

Solas stops thrusting his fingers into her and swallows.

“… Maybe?”

She groans and raises her eyes to the ceiling, leaning against the wall and looking for some kind of strength from the Creators.

Then they both remember where their hands are and quickly resume their activity.

“Are you…” Scarlet starts, while Solas’ lips brush against hers and his thumb tease her clitoris. Her small breasts bounce every time his fingers slip back into her body and her back arches a bit. “ _Ah!_ A-Are you willing to take the risk?”

A grin slowly unfolds on Solas’ face; he pulls out his fingers and licks them thoroughly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Your father can do nothing to keep me away from you, my love.”

Scarlet grins back at him, biting her lower lips, and that bold part of hers that grew during these years allows her to pull down her smalls and fling them at him.

They land on his head and hang from his left ear. She laughs as she moves backwards towards a pile of sheets sturdy enough to be used as a mattress.

Solas follows her, grinning and holding the smalls on his chest, and then he falls on her, chasing her mouth as they fill the room with their giggles and kisses.

 

\- - - -

 

Athim is abruptly awakened by insistent, continuous noises.

He stares at the pillow in his hands with a stunned face, then turns to where Solas is and scoffs.

“I knew it.”

The bald elf is snoring, relentless and loud sounds leaving his open mouth. He is even drooling and Athim enjoys the not-very-graceful sight for a short time, then he grunts and looks at the window.

The sun is rising, which means it’s time to get up, at least for him.

His neck and back hurt a bit, but not as much as he feared. He probably will never get use to that bed, but the ground looks way too hard for him, even with a pellet to sleep on it.

He stretches his arms and legs, starting brief Dalish exercises to fully wake up and eliminate any trace of sleep and discomfort from his body and mind.

He might not be the young man he was years ago and his leg hurts like mad when it rains, but he is still in good shape and it’s one of the few things related to him that he allows himself to be proud of.

The snoring finally stops and Solas slowly sits up with a small sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning.” Athim greets him, rolling his shoulders, and Solas nods at him.

“Good morning, _hahren_.” He gets up, a small smile on his lips as he goes to the window and opens it to let in some fresh air. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, surprisingly. Thank you.” Athim glances at the pillow and smirks. “Although I don’t remember going to bed with that.”

Solas is hardly phased. He keeps smiling and replies with a courteous tone: “I hope you don’t mind. I have been told that is a good way to stop someone from snoring.”

His smile gets a little murderous, but Athim doesn’t let that affect him either.

“Then I will remember to give you a pillow as well, young man, since you are terribly loud too.”

Solas’ smile disappears instantly and horror fills his eyes.

Athim feels like he won something important and grins.

“You actually woke me up with your snoring. I was surprised, since you told me you are quiet during the night.”

He chuckles, retrieves the bracers he left on the nightstand and the other parts of his armor from the wardrobe, and adds before opening the door: “I wonder how Scarlet manages to sleep every night with those sounds in her ears. You are louder than a wolf in heat, _da’len_.”

He leaves the room with a snicker while Solas splutters something and smashes the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY AN UPDATE. I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot ; v ; The next one will probably focus on Solas and Athim's attempts to like and respect each other.


	5. Chapter 5

“And this,” Dorian exclaims with endearing enthusiasm, “is my personal nook! Please notice the alphabetically piled books and the stains on the carpet… which hasn’t been replaced yet. Atrocious.”

He looks extremely happy and eager to take the Inquisitor’s mother on a trip across the whole stronghold. So much that he even insisted to wait for breakfast while visiting the rotunda and the library he so appreciates, ignoring Josephine’s glare as he took Mama Lavellan away from the tables in the hall.

Nehn looks overjoyed too. She stares at the hard, heavy stones of the walls and ceiling, touches the spines of the books, compliments Dorian’s diagrams spread on the table even though she has no idea what they say, sits on his chair and admires the sight visible from the window with wide, childlike eyes.

The agents, mages, and researchers bow their heads to her and treat her like no human has ever treated her before; she sees other elves too, young warriors or talented mages who work tirelessly to help the Inquisition.

She feels proud of her people, especially when she sees them being treated respectfully by their human or dwarven colleagues too.

“Would you like to see a book about the Dalish kingdom of Halamshiral?” Dorian asks, his grin blinding and his eyes full of thrill. He looks like a kid ready to show his mother all the cool things he found in the garden.

“Oh, dear!” Nehn plays nervously with her fingers, twisting them, while the young man searches for the book through the piles that surround them. “I… I can’t read Elvhen. I would have no idea what it says.”

“Don’t worry, my lady, it is written in the Common Tongue. It doesn’t date back to Halamshiral, it is just an essay from an old elven scholar.” Dorian’s smile is smug and mischievous. “Banned by the Chantry, of course.”

He finds the book and gently puts it on her lap.

Nehn feels a bit disappointed - she would have liked to hear that some of the rich culture from Halamshiral (and thus indirectly from Arlathan) had survived -, but a book written by an elf regarding their people sounds wonderful too.

It would never be used or taken into consideration during the Arlathvhen, but it’s a precious attempt to remember nonetheless.

Then she remembers the notes she saw on Solas’ desk the previous day: he knows written Elvhen and he is even teaching it to Scarlet. She instinctively turns to the balustrade, beneath which Solas’ desk and frescoes are, and Dorian understands what she is thinking.

“Oh, yes, our dear elven apostate has the few volumes written in Elvhen we found in the fortress.” he nods. “He is always happy to share them, but demands them to be returned to him in pristine conditions.”

He scratches his cheek absentmindedly, continuing: “I believe he is the only one, together with those two Dalish apprentices we have here, who can actually read them.”

Nehn remembers her daughter’s embarrassment when she and Athim told her that knowledge was for Dalish Keepers and First only. She remembers her initial joy, her pride in telling them Solas was teaching her, and then the way her face fell and Solas intervened to defend her.

Nehn sighs. She has spent only one day here, but she already feels different and her thoughts are not the same as before. There is much life, many different cultures here, many varied opinions that encounter each other and are able to coexist.

She wonders what would happen if every Dalish elf, not just Keepers and First, started writing and reading Elvhen. Wouldn’t that be a good way to remember their lore too?

She snaps out of it and focuses her attention back on Dorian, who is mumbling something about finding more interesting books for her while moving away empty weird bottles and papers.

“What did you mean with Dalish apprentices?” she asks, curious, then gasps in her usual manner. “ _Oooh_! Are there many other Dalish elves here?”

“Not that many, but the number is surprising all the same.” Dorian chuckles, making a happy sound when he finds a half-empty bottle with some dark liquid still in it. He drinks it all in one sip, coughing and wheezing it out when Nehn scoffs and smacks his head affectionately.

“ _Da’len_! It is too early to drink wine!”

“It’s not wine, my lady, I swear!” He hands her the bottle with a purple grin and she raises an eyebrow before sniffing it. She blinks.

“… Is that plum?”

“ _Was_. And yes, plum juice straight from Rivain. All natural, just like wine, but definitely less intoxicating.” Dorian’s grin turns sheepish and a bit ashamed. “I stopped drowning myself in glasses and bottles a long time ago, but this helps when things get a bit harder.”

Nehn blinks again, then a tender smile blooms on her face: she squishes Dorian’s face between her hands - causing him to splutter something -, then she presses a loud kiss on his forehead.

“Nice!” he says with his usual smug, amused smile, but a glowing blush too. “This is the first time I receive a kiss from a maternal figure.”

Nehn’s heart swells at that, but she changes topic to avoid embarrassing him. So she pats his hand and says solemnly, but with a huge smile: “And this maternal figure will also teach you the correct Dalish terms. What did you mean with ‘apprentices’ before?”

“Huh, the disciples of your Keepers?”

Nehn giggles. “They are called First, _da’len_.”

“Oh, right! I think Scarlet mentioned that once.” His eyes fall on the book still closed on her lap and the Dalish elf looks at it too before opening it slowly.

Apart from trading with the less racist human merchants and exchanging messages with other clans when possible, her clan rarely needs to write and read even the Common Tongue.

Their life is simple, mostly revolving around hunting, surviving, taking care of the camp and clan-mates. There are times when the Keeper holds lessons for everyone, but those are rare and the First is the one who gains most of the knowledge.

Nehn doesn’t know or recognize some of the words she sees in the book, but knowing it was written by another elf prompts her to keep reading. Also the topic interests her greatly and Dorian notices that.

“I am sure Solas and Scarlet would be happy to show you the real elven books.” he says, getting up to his feet from the space near the chair where he was sitting. His smile is mischievous, but affectionate too. “After they are finished with their… ah, lessons.”

Nehn hums, her own lips curling into an amused smirk. Dorian pretends to be deeply interested in a small dent in one of the bookshelves and avoids her eyes.

“I see.” she says, thrumming her fingers on the current page she was reading. “Tell me, are these lessons loud?”

“Well, they try not to be, I guess.” Dorian twirls his mustache with nonchalance, then he frowns and grumbles: “However, there _are_ times when _my_ naps are rudely interrupted by perfectly audible noises which I won’t describe in your presence.”

Nehn bursts into a carefree, joyous fit of giggles. All the fears and worries of the last day regarding her daughter’s mate are gone, melted away by this place and the people living in it, and she feels comforted: Scarlet is among dear friends and Solas loves her immensely.

She sends a prayer of thanks to the Creators. She knew that man was kind and good to her Scarlet since from the start, since she saw him kissing her face and cuddling her in the rotunda.

She thinks there is also a certain sadness hidden deep into him too, a profound pain that resurfaces when he isn’t controlling it, but whatever it is she is sure Scarlet will help him face it. She is good to and for him too.

“The Creators clearly blessed this union!” she says happily, going back to her book after exchanging a warm look with Dorian. She adores him too. Had he been an elf, she would have asked him to become part of the clan Lavellan.

He can still be part of it, she guesses… not in an official way, but in her heart he is definitely a son.

Someone harrumphs at her right and she turns to look at the corridor: Athim is there, chivalrously offering his arm to Lady Vivienne. His scowl has returned, while she looks rather content, a colorful fan in her elegant hand.

“There you are, my dear! I knew you would be here.” Vivienne says kindly, her smile affectionate.

“Good morning, Madame!” Nehn greets her with a bow of her head. She smiles at Athim, knowing what that face means. “Good morning to you too, _vhenan_. How was your night?”

“Loud, apparently.” he enigmatically replies. “And I didn’t feel blessed at all.”

Nehn shoots him a pointed look and sighs, folding her arms. She isn’t angry, more like annoyed, and hopes nothing bad happened last night.

She and Scarlet had a great time and talked a lot about her successes as Inquisitor, her new life, and Solas. But Athim slept in the same room as him and she knows there must have been some problems. It was inevitable.

“I seriously hope you didn’t argue with Solas again. Tell me you didn’t, _vhenan_.”

He sniffles, but doesn’t answer and Nehn groans, rolling her eyes and sending another prayer to the Creators, this time asking for patience and strength.

“There, Lord Lavellan, this won’t do. I admit I am not particularly fond of our elven apostate, but you need not to worry.” Vivienne intervenes, waving her fan and making colorful shapes in the air with it. Her smile is still affectionate, almost motherly. “He treats your daughter well. That is something I respect.”

Athim makes a funny face, a mix between begrudging acceptance and stubbornness. Nehn’s glares seems to convince him he has to stop.

“Are you still worried about their age difference, my lord?” Dorian says, sounding particularly amused. His grin is back, but Athim isn’t fazed by it. “Strange, Scarlet appreciates it _immensely_.”

Nehn can’t help but giggle. Athim looks on the verge of tears… or perhaps vomit.

“I admit that’s one of the things worrying me, yes.” he says, but Vivienne swats his arm with her fan, tutting.

“Nonsense! Your daughter knows perfectly what she wants and what she is doing. She is not a child anymore.” Her voice turns somewhat sad and she looks at the window for a long moment before turning back to the Dalish warrior. “My dear Bastien was so much older than me when I first met him and our relationship has been wonderful, extraordinary. I couldn’t care less for our age difference and what not. It did not matter.”

Athim sighs, sensing in her tone the sorrow caused by a great loss.

“Forgive me, Madame.”

Vivienne smiles again, before addressing Dorian. Then her expression turns into livid ice.

“Why in the world did you bring Lady Nehn in such a boring, _unclean_ ,” she eyes the carpet with disgust, “place, while she could be in the main hall or on my balcony drinking cold champagne from Val Royeaux?”

“Oh, he was showing me this book!” Nehn raises the volume so that her husband and Madame De Fer can see it. “A book written by an elven scholar, Athim! It’s about the Dalish kingdom of Halamshiral!”

He makes a tiny, surprised sound and leans closer to see it better. There are maps and pictures too, all made by that elven man, and he cracks a small, proud smile.

“Keep it! I am sure I have a copy somewhere around here anyway.” Dorian kindly says, before glancing at Vivienne with a smug face. She holds her chin high and speaks fast: “You will have all the time to read it later, my dear. Now it’s time for breakfast and Josephine will go insane if we don’t hurry to the main hall immediately.”

“Oh! Oh, of course!” Nehn looks at Dorian as if to ask for permission before slipping the book into one of the large, deep pockets of her dress. She and Athim thank the young man - she does it with another kiss on the forehead, Athim with a bigger smile -, then they all follow Vivienne out of the rotunda.

“We should work on your wardrobe, my dear.” Vivienne says, looking at Nehn’s clothes. There isn’t disgust on her face, but she looks rather confused. She raises an eyebrow, studying possible solutions. “Mmh… Perhaps something yellow? Not too bright. Elven style, of course.”

“Leave her alone, her clothes are fine!” Dorian says, stepping between the two women. “I am sure she and her husband would enjoy visiting Skyhold much more than spending hours looking at tacky Orlesian dresses.”

He beams at the two Dalish elves, his smile the whitest and most blinding thing they have ever seen.

Nehn, now arm in arm with Athim, wants to be fair to both, so she candidly replies, her smile as big as Dorian’s: “We could do both, my dear! I never saw an Orlesian dress up close.”

“Alright, but first the visit!” And then the two elves are left alone while their human friends glare at each other and start arguing about the best way to entertain them.

“He is hiding something.” Athim whispers in Nehn’s ear. She gasps and stares at him with disbelief.

“You mean Dorian? Oh, _vhenan_ , no! He…”

“Not Dorian! I am talking about Solas!” Athim looks at his feet as they walk down the stairs, deeply focused. “He is hiding something. I saw it.”

“Please, don’t start with this now. Don’t be paranoid.” his wife sighs, rubbing his arm in a soothing, relaxing way. “You _saw_ what exactly? Did you discover books about blood sacrifices in his room? Found a corpse in his closet?” She giggles when Athim pouts at her. “ _Vhenan_ , stop worrying. They are _happy_.”

“I followed them to their rooms yesterday.” he blurts out, wincing even before Nehn has glared at him. She does so, though, and the sight is frightening. She looks like a dragon ready to tear his head off.

“Athim!” she hisses, swatting his arm again, this time more fiercely. “I knew you had done that!”

“I wanted to make sure nothing bad would happen!”

“They are _mates_ , Athim. The ‘bad’ you fear could happen is perfectly normal between couples.” Her rage already gone, Nehn gives him a knowing smile, making him blush. “Did you forget how passionate we were when we were young?”

“… We still are like that.” he mumbles timidly and she giggles, squeezing his arm.

“So, what did you discover? What did you see that made you think ‘this poor lad is definitely hiding something dreadful’?”

“They were talking about children.”

Nehn lightens up like never before and her eyes turn into two big stars, but Athim continues quickly before she can start bouncing like a ball: “And I saw Solas with this very sad face while Scarlet wasn’t looking. He looked… guilty. Almost desperate.”

A shake of his head, then: “I tried to talk with him about it, but he said that nothing is wrong and that he is perfectly capable of giving her children. But something is off.”

He sniffles and insists, stubborn: “He is hiding something.”

“Maybe he made that face because he is worried about what _we_ might say and think?” Nehn retorts with a sigh. “Also, our daughter is fighting a _war_ against a mad magister, _vhenan_. She and her friends are in danger every day. It’s normal to be worried about the future in a situation like this.”

Her voice breaks at that, because she never forgot - not even for an instant - that Scarlet is risking her life every day, that she has been fighting this tiresome war for two years and this Corypheus is still haunting her, the Inquisition, and all Thedas.

Athim shares her fears and anguish and he leans in, resting his cheek on the top of her unruly head. He sighs and murmurs: “Forgive me, _vhenan_. I didn’t want to sadden you.”

“I am not sad, Athim. I am just concerned.” She turns to look at him, while Dorian and Vivienne reach the loudest point of their argument and the Tevinter almost kicks the door to the main hall open.

“Solas carries a deep sadness. I saw it too, but it’s not our place to help him deal with it. I am sure our daughter saw it and that she is helping him greatly. So stop tormenting him and start being nice to him!”

“I _was_ nice to him!” Athim exclaims, before lowering his voice. He sees Solas sitting at one of the tables: he is far, but the acoustic in the hall is phenomenal and he doesn’t want to run risks.

He hisses, even covering his mouth with a hand: “I was nice to him, _ma sa’lath_ , I swear! After our discussion, we ended up talking civilly.”

Nehn eyes him strangely, doubtful, but her husband insists and tugs at her sleeve, adding: “I swear it, it was… it was nice, I guess.”

“And how did you greet him this morning?” she asks with a patient sigh, pointing at the bald elf with her head. “He doesn’t look much happy.”

“Probably because he isn’t in the Fade watching old memories of dead people.” Athim mutters, yelping in pain when Nehn kicks his foot. “I… I only made a joke about his snoring! _Vhenan_ , you should have heard him, he was _deafening_! And he had the courage to put a pillow in my bed to make _me_ snore less!”

“Oh, Athim!” Nehn groans, then someone catches her eyes: it’s Scarlet, who is heading cheerfully to Solas, probably to give him a good morning kiss. She sighs and glares at her husband.

“You know why she had trouble falling asleep last night?”

Athim frowns, confused.

“No. Why?”

“She told me she is so used to hear Solas snoring by now that falling asleep takes her longer when she can’t hear him.”

Athim’s frown deepens, just like his confusion. Nehn looks about to kick his foot again, so he slowly takes a step backwards, just to be safe.

“But she never told him that he snored because he was sure he _didn’t_.” she continues, thrumming her fingers on his arm like she was doing before with the book. “Like, he hates the idea of himself making noises while sleeping! So Scarlet always reassured him and told him he was always quiet!”

She points at their daughter, who has now reached Solas. She wraps her arms around his neck from behind and leans down to kiss him, but his pose is a bit stiff.

Athim pales.

“Oh no.”

“I swear, Athim, sometimes you are worse than a stubborn druffalo!” Nehn sighs and they can only watch as Scarlet sits next to her lover.

 

\- - - -

 

“Good morning, _vhenan_.” Scarlet smiles, moving closer her seat to Solas’. “How did you sleep?”

Her smile disappears as he turns to her.

He is scowling, hard. His nose - which he is scrunching - is a bit too pink and his eyes seem rimmed red. There are deep lines on his forehead and his mouth has never been so curled downwards before.

He sniffles and looks back at his tea.

He is drinking _tea_. It can only mean something terrible happened.

“Solas!” Scarlet gasps, fearing the worst. She grasps his arm. “ _Ma vhenan_ , what is wrong?

Did he argue with her father? Did they really punch each other this morning?

Solas refuses to answer, his scowl so deep she fears for his forehead.

“ _Vhenan_!” she exclaims sternly, growing even more concerned. “Stop being a stubborn druffalo and tell me what’s wrong!”

He whines - and she thinks he doesn’t really look like a druffalo right now, more like a puppy - and huffs.

“I was told I sleep rather _loudly_.” he says, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. He sniffles again and his hurt look stabs Scarlet’s heart like a knife.

Just like the realization of what happened does.

She blushes, opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out, only a croaked sound, similar to his voice.

She forgot about his snoring! She didn’t think her father… she couldn’t imagine that…

Solas looks _awfully_ offended. No, that’s not right: he is just really hurt and this offended face he is making is only a mask to hide his real feelings.

So he looks awfully _hurt_ and that’s even worse. Scarlet doesn’t dare touching him, but she doesn’t want to move her hand from his arm either. She wants to reassure him, she wants to swear to him that she didn’t do that on purpose.

“Solas.” she starts, voice soft, rubbing her thumb on his arm. “ _Ma vhenan_. I am sorry, I…”

“Loud like a wolf in heat.” he continues, glaring at his cup of tea. “So deafening your father couldn’t believe you sleep with me every night.”

He turns to her and his eyes are sad like a puppy’s. He is _pouting_.

“Why did you always tell me I did not snore at all?”

“Because I knew how much you hated the very idea of it.” she sighs, moving her hand to take his. She does it slowly to give him the possibility to change idea if he feels to be too angry to be touched.

He lets her take his hand without complaining. He just scrunches up his nose a little more and keeps glaring at his tea. He is either going to set it on fire or freeze it.

“Solas, I don’t mind your snoring.” Scarlet continues, watching him blush. “I love it! I can’t fall asleep easily if I don’t hear you!” She smiles and gently squeezes his wrist. “In fact, it took me a lot of time to enter the Fade yesterday night.”

He scoffs, but she knows him well by now and she can see he appreciates her words.

“It’s true.” she insists, planting a small, feather-light kiss on his cheek. “I love sleeping with you, Solas.” She giggles. “Also, you look so cute when you snore!”

The corners of his mouth curl up, a tiny bit, but they do. He gives her a sidelong glance.

“You look cuter.”

“Flatterer.” She gives him another kiss, longer this time, and he relaxes, sighing and slouching on his chair.

Raw guilt gnaws at Scarlet’s heart and guts again and she murmurs sadly: “Forgive me, _vhenan_. I am sorry you discovered that from my father. I… I just didn’t want to hurt you. You looked so proud of the way you slept and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You omitted the truth to avoid causing me shame and displeasure.” he says, matter-of-factly. He fully turns to her and his smile is kind and warm. “Thank you, _vhenan_.”

“I…” she stammers, taken aback by his smile and gentle eyes as usual. She feels her face burn, but smiles back and moves her hand to his face, tracing the freckles on his cheek with her thumb.

He looks... sad for a moment, which lasts a second, but also an eternity, and Scarlet curses whoever or whatever caused him to feel so lonely and broken.

Solas kisses the palm of her right hand, sighs, then adds: “I understand that. I know it is not always easy to tell the truth. I appreciate it, my love.”

“Promise me you won’t feel bad when we will go to sleep now.”

“You said those noises make your sleep easier.” Solas looks somewhat proud, finally. He even lightens up. “How could I feel bad about that?”

“Good.” Scarlet smooches him, squishing his cheeks like she often does when she wants to play and pamper him. Even though they are in public, their table is empty and almost everyone is sitting at the other side of the hall. And in any case, they hardly care.

“Why did you ask for tea, anyway?” she asks, eyeing the teacup with sheer bewilderment. Solas mumbles something, but she can’t hear him well among the chatter in the room.

She tilts her head and her quizzical look lets him know she didn’t understand. He sighs and repeats, raising his voice: “I wanted it to avoid falling asleep this afternoon.”

He sheepishly looks away, spinning the cup on the table with a finger. “I guess everyone in the rotunda heard me snore, but if I am really as loud as your father says, then…”

“Oh, Solas!” Scarlet exclaims, feeling even worse than before. He is already so self-deprecating, he really didn’t another reason to feel bad about himself. She kisses his face, putting into each kiss all the love and reassurance she can.

“ _Vhenan_ , there is no reason to feel ashamed. Almost everyone snores! And nobody ever mocked you, I swear!” She kisses his knuckles and smiles when he shyly glances at her. “Please, don’t stop sleeping in your favorite places just because of that. I told you, it’s very sweet.”

He hums and his face is flushed red again as he explains: “I am sorry. I know this is childish and foolish.”

“It is not.”

“It is just that…” he sighs, stays silent for some seconds to reorganize his thoughts, then continues, still playing with the teacup: “All the elves of Elvhenan were Dreamers, but there were certain rules or customs to follow to be respected and considered a good Dreamer.”

He clears his throat and hurries to add: “At least, that is what my journeys in the Fade revealed to me.”

“Customs and rules?” Scarlet repeats, perplexed. “Such as?”

“Laying perfectly still was one, for example.” He taps the cup, watching the ripples break on the surface of the dark tea. “A Dreamer who never moved or rolled during their sleep was highly esteemed. Just like one who emitted no sound.”

His smile is shy and ashamed when he looks at her.

“I guess this is why I was so concerned about my sleeping habits. I did not want to be mocked. Perhaps I was looking for some sort of… acceptance? I cannot say.”

Scarlet watches him for a long time before turning his head again and kissing him, a sweet kiss that does not carry the pungent taste of tea or the salty one of tears. It brings relief and reassurance and the reminder that she accepts him for who he is.

He desperately tightens his hold on her hand, wishing to stay like this forever: she doesn’t know the truth - _not yet_ , he tells himself, _not yet_ \- and Athim’s words from last night still haunt him.

He clings to her love with all his strength and finds his wish to be understood by his peers back when he was young stupid and frivolous now, a silly thing compared to his desire to tell her the truth and still be loved.

“ _Ma vhenan_.” she says, whispering against his lips and looking at him in the eyes. “You are an incredible mage and Dreamer, no matter how you sleep.” She smiles and strokes the back of his hand. “Leave those customs to the past. They were not good for evaluating a person’s talents.”

He chuckles with a nod and kisses her hand, paying particular attention to her knuckles. No matter how many times he heals them, they are always rough and chapped due to her fighting style; he heals them again, smiling as he does so, and Scarlet thanks him with a kiss.

“Keep sleeping as you do and forget my father’s words. He is just…” she sighs and rolls her eyes. “A bit jealous, I guess?”

“And worried and scared for you.” Solas adds, stroking her cheek. “You are the leader of the Inquisition, _vhenan_. This means many things and your father only wants you to be happy.”

“But I am happy with _you_!” she exclaims, almost groaning, because she can’t understand how her _father_ can’t understand that.

She blushes and focuses on Solas’ jawbone pendant, even touching it and playing with it, to calm down and not babble.

“You make me happy, Solas.” she murmurs and she wants to say more, says clearly what they both have been hinting at for the past months, but then thinks he might be embarrassed by it or feel pressured, especially now that her parents are here.

So she looks up, smiles, and doesn’t say more.

But Solas understands - he always does -, so he blushes like she did and hugs her, moving her head in the crook of his neck so he can rest his cheek on it and nuzzle her hair.

“My love. You make me happy too, more than I deserve, more than I can express.”

She kisses his neck, even tickles it with her nose until he is snorting, then smiles at him: “Are you feeling better?”

He watches her, silent, for some seconds, brushing her hair with his long fingers and admiring every part of her face. Then a smile blooms on his face too and he nods.

“Thank you.”

Then he rests his hand on her thigh, making her grin.

“Careful!” she laughs. “I bet my parents are watching us.”

“Probably.” Solas’ grin is almost hungry and definitely wicked. “But I already told you, _emma lath_ , that your father can do nothing to keep me away from you.”

She giggles, a young woman in love, and throws her arms around him, happy they talked about this and that he is fine.

Immediately Solas’ hands go on her back and he presses his mouth on her cheek. He inhales, then brushes his lips on her long ear, eliciting another giggle from her.

He chuckles and whispers endearments which make her blush and then she kisses his nose - something he usually does with her - before saying: “ _Ar lath, ma vhenan_.” She kisses his forehead too. “You and your adorable snoring.”

The sadness is gone from Solas’ eyes, replaced by love and - finally - joy. He gets up with her to join the others at their table, hand in hand, and they sit right across Athim and Nehn.

Solas greets them politely, not bothering hide his red cheeks and his broad smile which makes his face ache and crinkles his mouth and eyes. Scarlet glares at her father and he sheepishly mumbles a “good morning” directed both at her and Solas.

He saw how they looked at each other. He saw how they discussed what was bothering them, how they talked and reassured each other.

He saw himself and Nehn in them and his heart swells again with that sentiment he doesn’t know how to describe. It’s weird, it’s like a timid animal he didn’t know he had suddenly took a peek out of his heart, awakening something in him.

Athim feels confused, but his desire to accept Solas for who he is grows. He saw how lovingly and gently he treats his daughter and found nothing to criticize or be worried about in that.

So he hurries to finish his breakfast - and this time he doesn’t let all the food on the table confuse him - and impatiently waits for the others to do the same. When it’s finally time to begin their tour of the fortress, he doesn’t follow Nehn, Dorian, and Scarlet, who decided to go see the mage tower for now.

“Well, young man.” he says to a bewildered Solas. “Why don’t you accompany me to see this fabled underground library I heard so much about?”

“Papae.” Scarlet intervenes, her glare returning, so similar to her mother’s. “I don’t think that would be…”

“Oh, I will visit the tower too later, don’t worry!” Athim laughs, noticing Dorian’s disappointed look. “But right now, I’d like to see all those ancient books.”

He pats Solas’ shoulder. Contrarily to the previous day, his chuckle doesn’t sound fake and he looks legitimately interested in the library and exploring it with him. His smile is even somewhat kind, even though not exactly big.

“Are there more volumes about elven history? Dorian gave Nehn one and I’d like to see more.”

Solas looks flattered for a moment. His face soon shifts into a neutral and polite expression, but it’s undeniable he is happy that Athim decided to trust his judgement and knowledge about this precious matter.

“Of course.” he says with a nod. “There are also some books written in Elvhen. Scarlet and I use them for our lessons.”

He didn’t say that to defy Athim and remind him of their argument from the previous day, and Athim seems to realize that, because his smile doesn’t falter, although he replies ironically: “I guess a simple look won’t hurt. In any case, it’s not like you’d be teaching me how to read it, right?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Solas answers without missing a beat and Athim snorts, looking amused.

Scarlet and the others watch them with concern, surprise, and optimistic interest; she catches Solas’ eyes and pleads him to be careful. This is different from sharing a room for the night, but it is equally dangerous, because the two men will have to deal with their clashing opinions on their cultures and their stubborn personalities.

Solas smiles at her, then looks at Nehn.

“My lady, I would be happy to show you the library as well. Perhaps you all might join us later, after your visit to the tower?”

“I wouldn’t miss it!” Nehn laughs cheerfully, literally bouncing on her feet. She tugs at Dorian’s sleeve, grinning. “Come on, _da’len_ , let’s go see this tower. Are there many books there too?”

“Skyhold is full of books, my lady.” the Tevinter man chuckles, already arm in arm with her. “I am sure you will have a great time here.”

“I think so too.” She turns to Solas and her husband and shoots the latter a warning look. “Be good boys! And don’t you dare say anything bad to each other or I swear I will kick your sorry asses down from the library up to the highest tower!”

Solas chuckles and acknowledges her words with a respectful nod of his head. Athim pouts and grumbles an affirmative answer.

“She means it and I mean it too.” Scarlet intervenes, looking back and forth from her father to Solas, hands on her hips. “Don’t make me regret this. If I hear even the smallest hint of a bad argument or a fight, I will officially order the guards to keep you apart.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Solas answers candidly, his smile innocent and warm. Athim grumbles some more, but nods fiercely when Scarlet glares harder at him.

Her serious face melts, leaving space to a bright grin and dimpled cheeks.

“Good! Have a nice time, then!”

She kisses Solas, plants a sweet kiss on Athim’s forehead, then follows Dorian and her mother out of the hall.

The two men remain in silence, standing at the center of the hall, while the rest of the companions wave at them and go their way, sure to see them later during the tour.

Bull already promised to introduce Athim and Nehn to the Chargers, while Varric will show them where he usually writes, Cassandra will guide them in the courtyard, Blackwall in the stables, and Vivienne in the complex world that Orlesian fashion is.

Sera is stubbornly avoiding the two Dalish elves, but she mumbled something about cookies, while Cole simply disappeared, although Solas can sense he is nearby.

“Well, then.” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “Shall we go, _hahren_?”

“Yes, but first…” Athim doesn’t hesitate. Humility is his name and he knows he has been petty and stupid. He will continue giving Solas a not-exactly-easy-time, but not in the way he did this morning.

So he apologizes, even bowing his head.

“ _Ir abelas, lethallin_.” he says. “I didn’t want to hurt you. My words were ill considered and I shouldn’t have mocked you. I saw how much my joke affected you.”

Solas blinks, then answers with great relief and sincere gratefulness tinted by surprise: “Do not worry, _hahren_. It has passed and I am not concerning myself over it anymore.”

“Scarlet comforted you.” Athim says and it’s not a question, but a statement. Solas nods, confirming it.

“She often does. I… sometimes I am plagued by many fears, just like she is. These are hard times, as you said last night.”

“Indeed.” Athim smiles, a true, broad smile that lightens his wrinkled and slightly scarred face. “I am happy you comfort and reassure each other. That’s what true lovers do.”

Solas smiles, looking even happier than before. He turns his gaze to the door, even though Scarlet isn’t there anymore.

Then he hears it, a murmur barely audible above the humming and chatter around them.

“Perhaps this union was truly blessed.”

“I am sorry…?”

“Oh, nothing.” Athim shakes his head and waves his hand. He clears his throat and takes a step back, waiting for him to take the lead. The smile is back on his face.

“Come on, then. Let’s go this library!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This heat is killing my brain cells, so I hope this chapter is good ;_;
> 
> The ancient elves sound pretty obsessed with sleeping and since their society was almost as snobbish as Tevinter's or Orlais', I am sure they had specific "rules" regarding the way one slept and reacted consequently.
> 
> Someone who snored, drooled, and rolled a lot over in their sleep surely wouldn't have been considered elegant or worthy of respect, at least in the most important courts/places. 
> 
> And since Solas seems to have been mocked by his allies too and to have had a difficult life in Elvhenan, I decided to add this little headcanon: he sleeps like a cute beast and his peers/Evanuris/other elves etc. laughed at him because of this too. Basically, I found another reason to make him sad AHAHAHAH ;_;
> 
> The next chapter will focus more on the companions and their attempts to convince Athim that Solas is not only a good boyfriend for Scarlet, but also a good man and a talented mage. I like writing them as friends of Solas who respect him, despite all their differences ; v ;


	6. Chapter 6

Solas’ positive and hopeful mood takes a sharp low turn when they meet Loranil and Cillian in the underground corridor where the library is.

They immediately pique Athim’s interest. He heard about them and even saw Cillian from afar while walking with Madame Vivienne earlier this morning, but now he has the chance to _talk_ with them and Solas wants to hide in the shadows and rot there.

Because they are _Dalish_ and Athim smiles at them as if he has just seen old, familiar friends.

Just when he thought they were making progress, here are two people that remind Athim of how different Solas is, how _not Dalish_ he is, how rare and odd his studies and preferences are.

_Young_ Loranil gasps and bows so much it’s a wonder his back doesn’t snap in half. Cillian, much older (but not as much as Solas), bows more discreetly and greets Athim with elven words.

“ _Andaran atish’an, hahren_. I am Cillian of clan Ralaferin and this is Loranil. It’s an honor to meet the father of Inquisitor Lavellan.”

Solas takes some pride and a small victory from the fact that Cillian’s pronunciation isn’t as perfect as his and stays behind Athim, gloating in silence without letting his emotions show on his face.

He can’t help but feel ashamed, though, as Athim’s smile broadens and the old Dalish elf exclaims happily: “And it’s an honor for me to meet a hunter of Hawen’s clan and a famous mage of clan Ralaferin!”

He even clasps their arms and hands and starts asking kind questions: “How are things in your clans? My daughter told me she met Hawen. I hope the _shem_ civil war didn’t hurt your people too much, _lethallin_.”

“They bothered us for a time, but fortunately Inquisitor Lavellan intervened.” Loranil’s eyes shine with enthusiasm and admiration, in which something else can be seen. “She is an amazing leader and woman, _hahren_!”

Athim laughs like Solas never heard him laugh before and pats the young hunter’s shoulder, replying: “Indeed she is. She is revolutionizing Thedas.” He looks at the two men in silence for a few seconds, studying them, then asks: “Do you like the Inquisition? Working for it?”

A myriad of compliments and positive statements follows and Solas retreats further into the shadows, leaning against a pillar and pretending to look at the painting on the farthest wall of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

He listens to Loranil as he lists all the wonderful things Scarlet did, how proud and happy he is to stay here and support her and her cause, how good she has been to the elves and how this further convinced him that she is the leader they need.

His cheeks are red and he speaks too quickly, betraying his emotions and true feelings. Cillian, once again, hides them better, but a certain admiration can be still detected in his voice as he compliments Scarlet and her victories.

“She is a beautiful woman as well.” he adds after a moment of hesitation and Solas’ eyes snap to him, not glaring, merely drilling a hole into his face.

But hidden as he is, Cillian and Loranil don’t even pay attention to him, perhaps they didn’t even see him behind Athim or they don’t care about his presence.

Cillian has always been polite the few times they talked, while Loranil just showed him the amount of respect necessary to coexist peacefully and never went beyond that. It’s not like Solas can really blame them: he never did much to become friends with them and his jealousy - and, incredibly, even his feeling of _inferiority_ \- caused by Loranil never made things easier.

But they know he is together with Scarlet. They saw him kiss her and hug her, all Skyhold and a good part of Thedas know about them now. So Cillian’s words not only are disrespectful towards Scarlet, but also towards her relationship with Solas, who is standing right there, ignored and not even addressed.

But Athim does address him. He raises his eyebrows after hearing Cillian’s comment and turns to where Solas is, showing a small, but warm smile.

“What do you say, Solas? Is my daughter beautiful?”

The other two elves’ eyes move to him: surprise blooms on Cillian’s face and Solas realizes he truly didn’t notice him. Something else flickers in Loranil’s eyes instead, something akin to annoyance, and that only prompts him to step forward and smile at Athim, replying:

“She is.” His smile grows and the light in his eyes is tender, loving, as he thinks about Scarlet. “She is beautiful both on the inside and the outside. I am lucky to have her in my life.”

His last words carry a specific message that Cillian and Loranil don’t miss, but while the first one reacts with a genuinely happy and respectful smile, the other blushes and looks away, annoyed by the intrusion of that older elf that isn’t Dalish and knows way too much.

So the young boy attacks his weakest points, knowing he won’t be able to say much about those.

“I heard that she was also a brilliant huntress.” he says, talking to Athim only, ignoring Solas again. “How did clan Lavellan survived the harsh winters, _hahren_? Our Keeper Hawen came up with a good way to better use the hunters’ techniques to find food.”

Athim looks intrigued, interested, and Loranil seizes the chance to be in the spotlight and look like an experienced man. He boasts about his Keeper’s ideas, his clan resources, the animals and meat they collected this year, all the great halla the halla-keeper so painstakingly took care of.

“We also have a golden halla! It must be a sign of good fortune from Ghilan’nain!”

Solas, who has been silent the whole time, not knowing how to discuss those matters, blurts out:

“Actually, it was _Scarlet_ who found it for your clan.” He uses his _vhenan_ ’s name to remind the boy who the elf she kisses every day is and the interruption, his words, and the way he pronounced them clearly bother Loranil a lot.

“You are right, _hahren_.” he says, forced to acknowledge his presence now. But that term of respect sounds different when he uses it for him. “Lady Lavellan helped my clan a lot. I’ll be forever grateful to her.”

And before Solas can reply or even just react with his face, Loranil turns back to Athim and continues talking about Dalish things.

Athim answers his questions and listens to his long, detailed descriptions and stories and sometimes Cillian intervenes too, his calm voice and experienced wisdom a painful reminder. He is younger than Solas as well and the elven apostate heard many maids and even some soldiers compliment his looks while giggling and blushing or whistling and looking longingly at him.

And he knows that he would be a good mate for Scarlet. He knows there is a strong possibility that Athim is thinking that. Cillian is strong, brilliant, gentle, and discovered an elven art long thought lost, earning the respect of many clans and mages.

Plus he is Dalish and he is different from young, naïve Loranil; so even if Athim hasn’t been convinced by the younger elf’s honest, but childish manners, he surely has been surprised by Cillian’s.

And Solas’ self-confidence, born from his knowledge and the wisdom he feels to possess, suddenly decreases and it feels small and stupid, shaking lonely in a corner of his soul.

The three Dalish elves discuss Dalish matters, customs, rules, and arts that do not belong to his people or maybe they did, but in a completely different shape and form and he cannot recognize them anymore.

He doesn’t know what to say and ask, how to intervene, how to participate to the conversation and it’s not something that happens often. It’s not something that should happen _now_ , when Scarlet’s father is here and judges all his moves and words, deciding whether he is worthy of his daughter or not.

Also, the knowledge he possesses, all the information and truths he holds dear in his mind, aren’t appreciated by this humble, but worried father: he thinks he’s twisting his daughter’s mind, that he is teaching her wrong, incorrect, and dangerous things.

Whereas the two elves in front of him now are the perfect example of what a good elf must be, according to the Dalish: inexperienced, but enthusiastic and loyal Loranil and valiant, wise, and brave Cillian.

Also, they are _young_ and _handsome_ and Solas can still remember clearly the comments of some of the women in Hawen’s clan, words of mockery and doubt related to his narrow, long face, older age, and odd interests which tinted his hands with ink and cut his fingertips with papercuts and wrinkles.

He tightens his lips and clasps those hands behind his back, while the three Dalish elves continue their conversation. To be honest, Loranil and Cillian do that: Athim has now quieted down and only listens, nodding his head or humming once in a while.

“… And our First is working on a spell to make our weapons last longer. A spell stronger than those used by the humans! It’s pretty complicated, but…”

“Now that’s useful.” Athim speaks again, making the three other men jump. There is a smile on his face as he turns to Solas and adds: “Maybe you could help them, Solas. Do you know any spell like that?”

Solas knows what he is really asking: he wants to know whether the Fade showed him memories of such spells and knowledge, but the truth is much more complex than that.

Solas knows that spell _since his youth_ and it has been quite useful, like Athim said, to preserve intact the weapons and the equipment his army of freed slaves used against the Evanuris and their minions.

Everything that his sanctuary in the lake contains, in fact, is protected by such a spell, while the fortress itself is defended by other ancient elven magic and the spirits who accepted his request to guard it.

These are things he cannot reveal, but he can play with words a little and say them all the same, albeit in a different way.

“I do know some, _hahren_.” he replies, slightly bowing his head. “The First of Hawen’s clan did not tell us about this experiment when we visited the clan, but I am hardly surprised. We were still strangers, after all.”

“Lady Lavellan is not a stranger to us!” Loranil exclaims, blushing again. “It just wasn’t a topic to discuss with the Inquisitor!”

“Of course.” Solas replies calmly, even smiling serenely, remembering Hawen’s initial distrust and the tasks he forced Scarlet to complete to gain his respect. He is still bothered by that, but he knows that Scarlet thought it to be a completely normal and wise behavior.

“Well, then you might write these spells down and give them to Loranil here.” Athim intervenes. “I presume it’s ancient elven magic?”

“Of course. That is one of my greatest interests, after all.” Solas’ chest swells a little with the emotion that he carries in his name and he smiles at the old elf, happy to see no malice or disgust in his eyes, but only genuine interest and kindness.

He turns to Loranil, whose pout is very badly hidden, and continues: “I’ll be happy to give them you, _da’len_ , so that you may send them to your clan in the Dales.”

“ _Ma serannas, hahren_.” the boy stiffly replies, not liking that turn of events at all, and then it’s Cillian who intervenes, asking with his soft, placid voice: “ _Hahren_ , I heard you studied the Fade, but I didn’t know you knew so much about elven magic.”

“I am an expert in many things.” Solas replies without superiority or arrogance, just matter-of-factly. “Elven magic and lore are one of those I am most expert in, together with Fade and spirits.”

“Then you must know more about my specialization.” There is something new in Cillian’s usually calm eyes and even the hint of an enthusiastic smile on his dark lips. “I studied the arts and techniques of Arcane Warriors for…”

“ _Dirth'ena Enasalin._ ” Solas gently interrupts him and Cillian blinks, confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“ _Dirth’ena Enasalin_. Knowledge that leads to victory. That is how the ancient elves who approved of this specialization called it.”

Solas straightens his back a little bit and clears his throat, appreciating the raw attention everyone is giving him right now. Even Loranil looks _thirsty_ to know more.

“However, those elven mages who disapproved of such a physical arts called them _Ghilan'him Banal'vhen_ , the path that leads astray. They did not doubt the arcane warriors’ honor, they simply disagreed on the way they completed their duties and missions.”

“I…” Cillian shakes his head, bewildered. “I only glimpsed small, confused traces of such things in the shrine…” His smile comes back, bigger than before, and he exclaims: “ _Hahren_! Do you know more? Would you teach me?”

During these years spent in Skyhold, the other elves never paid much attention to Solas and even though Cillian and his clan-mate Neria often asked him books written in elven for their own studies, they never talked much.

To converse like this, sharing information about the ancient elves, feels satisfying, even rewarding. There are respect and ardor in Cillian’s eyes, surprise in Loranil’s, and amusement and affection in Athim’s.

It’s a good, warm feeling. He feels he belongs here even more.

“I… Yes, I wouldn’t mind it.” Solas nods and Cillian’s enthusiasm, even if refrained by his good manners and composed personality, grows and sparkles like a rekindled fire.

“Oh, if I only knew sooner that you held so much knowledge!” he exclaims, even clasping his arm. “ _Ma serannas_. I will be a good disciple, I promise.” He blinks, then gasps softly, a wonderful idea coming to him.

“May Neria and other mages join us as well? I’m sure they will be happy to participate.”

“I…” Solas tries to imagine himself teaching ancient elven magic and his heart burns with joy and excitement. He doesn’t even understand well what is happening right now.

“How do you know that what you learned there is right?” Loranil murmurs, agape. “Demons live in the Beyond too, not just spirits.”

“I know quite well what lives in the Fade.” Solas coldly replies, narrowing his eyes at him. “And I’m able to discern between what is real and true and what is not, _da’len_.”

He tastes irony and bitterness on his tongue for a moment, then it fades away and Cillian comes to his help:

“Hush, child.” he tells Loranil, his tone milder, but the meaning of his words the same. “I glimpsed only a part of what he said during my long meditation in those elven ruins, but I know he spoke the truth.”

“Also,” Athim intervenes, putting an end to it with his polite, but deep and resolute voice, “my daughter and her advisors wouldn’t give him so many important tasks if he wasn’t prepared, would they?” He narrows his eyes at Loranil too and the boy seems to shrink. “Do you doubt Scarlet’s judgement, _da’len_?”

“No! I would never!” Loranil fidgets ashamedly, then he turns to Solas and begrudgingly mumbles: “ _Ir abelas, hahren_. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I took no offense.” Solas calmly replies, smiling again, even though a petty part of him gloats in seeing the boy like this. “I’d be happy to see you during these lessons, mage or not mage.”

Loranil mumbles a positive words, then Cillian rests a hand on his back, sensing how upset he is, and decides to finish it there.

“I will tell the others, then. Thank you so much.” He bows his head to him, then to Athim. “I hope to meet you again soon, _hahren_. It has been an honor.”

“The same counts for me, _lethallin_. Go with Mythal’s blessing, both of you.”

Loranil manages to decently say goodbye to the old Dalish, although he stubbornly ignores Solas again, and the two elves leave the underground corridor to go back up to the main hall.

Solas and Athim are left alone near the door to the library and the first looks at the latter with gratefulness and warmth in his eyes.

“Thank you, _hahren_.” he says, causing Athim to blink surprised and ask: “For what?”

“For supporting me. I do not know much about Dalish customs and daily life, even though I learned some things from Scarlet.” He smiles sadly. “Loranil wasn’t giving me an easy time.”

“Well, you looked like a kicked puppy.” the old Dalish mumbles. “I couldn’t just ignore you like those two were doing, could I? That wasn’t polite at all, by the way.”

The distaste that can be heard in Athim’s voice surprises Solas and he tentatively, almost shyly, asks: “What do you think about them?”

Athim hums, scrunches up his nose, and replies: “Cillian is a good fellow, but he should learn to spend less time with his head up in the clouds. I don’t think he was deliberately ignoring you, but he could have greeted you better.”

He scratches his cheek, humming pensively again, and then his eyes narrow as he thinks about Loranil, much to Solas’ delight.

“Loranil is a child. From the little I could see, he is naïve about serious stuff and way too serious about less important things.” But then his scowl turns into a smirk as he turns to Solas. “Did he ever give you any problems? His crush on Scarlet is adorable and frustrating at the same time.”

Solas blushes, remembering all the times Loranil tried to approach Scarlet or glared at him from afar, and that’s enough for Athim to understand.

“I see.” he chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Well, don’t worry about him. Scarlet has eyes only for you and to be honest I wouldn’t approve of him as a future son-in-law.”

“Really?” Solas’ eyebrow rise. “Why not? He is…”

He stops, blushing again and feeling that sense of inferiority coming back in full force.

“He is Dalish?” Athim concludes for him. He stays quiet for a short moment, then sighs and continues: “I’m sorry, _lethallin._ I let my love and jealousy blind me and make my mouth say hurtful things yesterday.”

“I understand. Scarlet is…” Solas clears his throat, smiling softly. “She is a wonderful woman and you are right to be so worried about her.” Then he frowns, unable to let a small particular go, and adds: “You reprimanded Loranil when he doubted my knowledge and studies, but you thought the same yesterday. What made you change your mind?”

The Dalish elf scowls again and folds his arm. Now it’s his time to blush, because Solas hit a weak point and Athim was probably hoping he wouldn’t remember everything of their conversation in the rotunda.

A silly hope, Athim seems to realize, and Solas smiles at him, to show that he isn’t attacking him, but simply asking a question.

“I… I thought that Scarlet wouldn’t be so irresponsible and foolish to let someone not cultured and knowledgeable enough to deal with such important matters.” He shrugs and looks away, pouting.

“I thought about it while we were coming down here and then that child said the same things I told you yesterday and I realized it was a very stupid thing to say. I realized I made a terrible impression.”

Solas chuckles and shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back.

“It wasn’t so terrible. But you are right, Scarlet would let someone teach her elven lore and write reports about the Fade only if she was completely sure of their abilities.”

“Yes.” Athim gives him an odd look and says slowly: “I don’t understand much about it, but if you believe the stuff you found in the Fade is the truth, then I’ll believe you too.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are soft and paternal as he adds: “And I’ll admit I liked the way you defended your ideas, even with me. You knew I was Scarlet’s father, but you stayed honest and coherent and didn’t try to lick my ass.”

“I am confident about my knowledge.” Solas replies, keeping his chin high, and the other elf laughs, nodding.

“Yes, that’s a good thing.” He stays quiet for a moment, then he says, giving him that odd look again: “However, I do hope you are willing to change your mind and accept you were wrong, whenever you find something that contradicts what you knew before.”

Solas blinks, taken aback, and an ashamed blush tints his cheeks and ears.

He was a fool before. He wasted so much time, dwelling in the conviction that this world was merely a dream, but now… now he knows that’s not the case and he wants to change his mind about another thing too, the thing that most of all haunts his days and nights, more blinding that the light of the Orb.

Athim notices his blush and mistakes its meaning for another one, just believing he is truly proud like his name suggests.

“It’s not like that.” Solas hurries to reassure him when he sees his amused, slightly sardonic smile. “I am always willing to change my mind. I am not a fool who likes to sits on outdated, wrong wisdom and refuses anything else.”

He looks down and a loving smile curls his lips as he thinks about Scarlet’s smile and laughter.

“Scarlet helped me discover many new things and revaluate what I knew. I like to think I became a better man thanks to her.”

He hears Athim grumble something, but it doesn’t sound rude, just resigned, and he realizes the old man is slowly getting convinced about his daughter’s relationship.

In such a short time, it’s more than Solas could have ever hoped for. Perhaps their meeting with Loranil and Cillian wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Sometimes” Athim says, eyeing him with kindness, “you and Scarlet remind me of Nehn and myself.”

Solas’ blush increases, but the reason for its presence is another now and Athim understands that.

He chuckles and Solas allows a huge, flattered smile to appear on his face. That meant a lot and for a second he forgets about his task and imagines a future where they live all together, with children running around and…

But then reality settles in and he remembers what Athim told him the previous night.

_“Don’t deceive her promising what you cannot give her. Don’t bring up family, kids, and parenthood if you know that’s impossible.”_

He swallows and looks down again, this time to hide his tears. And then he remembers Athim’s next words:

_“Please, tell her now before it’s too late! She will understand, she won’t stop loving you, but at least she won’t delude herself anymore!”_

The old Dalish is saying something about the underground library and Solas cannot hear him well, too lost in his confused, hopeful, anguished thoughts, but then a ray of light slices the fog in his mind and he can think better.

Athim’s words helped him make a step further towards the courage he needs to tell Scarlet the truth. It’s like he’s getting closer to what his heart really desires and he knows that she would understand and forgive him.

But then she would carry the same weight he does and that would be unfair. She would be in danger.

What should he do? What else can he do? Either stay quiet and then face her pain and despair or tell her everything and see her be in his same situation? Which one is the kinder option?

“Solas?” Athim taps his shoulder and he jumps, focusing his gaze on him. The Dalish elf is frowning, worried.

“Are you alright?”

He nods quickly, but Athim isn’t convinced and his frown is now one of disapproval.

“I’m still convinced you are hiding something.”

Solas doesn’t deny it; he doesn’t reply and doesn’t look away from Athim’s golden eyes, identical to Scarlet’s, and the Dalish elf sighs.

“I suppose I will have to trust Scarlet about this too.”

And Solas is glad when the topic suddenly changes and the library is once again brought up. He clears his throat and gladly leads Athim to the door, already listing all the books and documents about elven culture that are kept there.

But his heart and mind scream at him and he has to focus all his energies in thinking about the books and not Scarlet’s smiling face and kind eyes.

He doesn’t notice the look Athim gives him for the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, A NEW CHAPTER! ( ´ ▽ ` )
> 
> I have nothing against poor Loranil, but we know so little about him that I like to play with the idea that he has a crush on Scarlet and can't really stand Solas.
> 
> Things will still be quite intense between Solas and Athim - even though the old father is slowly getting used to him and his relationship with Scarlet - and the companions and Nehn will have a special role in the next chapter. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> We are reaching the end, by the way, and I'm really satisfied of how things are proceeding! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

“And then Solas used one of his spells – don’t ask me what it was, ma’am, because I have no idea – to burn to a crisp the darkspawn attacking us in Storm Coast.”

Bull swallows a big gulp of ale, while Nehn next to him graciously accepts the salted nuts the Chargers offer her.

“And then…!” the Qunari continues, flashing a grin, “he used that weird Fade magic he knows to make a fist appear out of nowhere and kill the last one of those fuckers, saving Boss’ life!”

“Oh, my!”

Nehn turns to her daughter, smiling happily, clearly enjoying Bull’s colorful descriptions and stories about Solas.

He and the others have been telling her things about her daughter’s mate for a good hour, now, and she knows exactly what they are trying to do. She isn’t sure whether to believe everything they are telling her – Varric swore Solas (or Chuckles, as he calls him) froze a dragon midair, making it fall onto the ground and crash into million pieces -, but she admires and respect the sentiment and doesn’t doubt that the elven mage is talented as they say.

There is a large bag at her feet, full of books and volumes Dorian and Vivienne gave her during her visit at the tower Scarlet restored for the mages in visit at Skyhold; they are mostly simple books about elven history and lore, but they are incredibly precious for the Dalish and her daughter assured her that she can bring them to the clan if she wishes to, because the mages already copied them down or there are more copies to be found at Val Royeaux.

Truly a miracle, Nehn thinks, before thinking about her husband and Solas, currently exploring that underground library she heard so much about all by themselves. She hopes they are alright and that nothing bad happened; she saw and heard her husband apologize to Solas and they left quite happily, but her husband is a stubborn man and Solas carries his pride in his name.

“He kisses Scarlet’s eyes every night before falling asleep.” a new voice tells her, close to her. She gasps and turns, then a smile blooms on her face as she recognizes Cole. He smiles at her, too, not seeing Scarlet’s blush and not hearing her strangled noise.

“One kiss to wish her goodnight, one to wish her a good morning for the next day.” he continues and even if that detail is much private and causes Bull to make a whistling sound and Cassandra to gasp with pleasure while Varric takes note of it on his journal, Nehn is overjoyed by it. It tells more about her future son-in-law than all the stories Scarlet’s companions told her.

“Is that so?” She turns to her daughter and sees her blush and look down at her lap with a bashful smile. “Oh, _da’vhenan_! I knew he was a romantic!”

“They always walk hand in hand.” Dorian adds and Varric senses that’s a good moment to speak up as well: “They gave me the inspiration for a new chapter of my smutty book, you know? Not that I saw them doing anything _racy_ in daylight. But they are quite _passionate_.”

“Guys!” Scarlet exclaims, redder than her hair and the wine Cabot is pouring with a smirk.

“They call each other ‘ _ma sa’lath’_.” Cassandra says, mispronouncing the word a little, and Nehn giggles at that, while her daughter groans and bangs her forehead against the counter. The older Dalish woman is even more convinced, now, that Solas is the right man for her daughter and she begs his friends to tell her more.

And even if Varric and Bull tend to exaggerate a lot and Sera keeps insisting that he is an ‘egg’, for some mysterious reason, she sees and finds truth in their words and her joy increases, spreading across her face in the shape of a blush and two big dimples, while Scarlet listens with a goofy smile on her face and eyes cast down, long fingers playing with the hem of her precious shirt.

And that’s when Solas and Athim enter, the latter carrying a second bag full of books. They are talking civilly to each other and her husband is even smiling, a small, but warm smile like the ones he gives only to his family and close friends.

Solas looks more relaxed, at ease; he walks with his hands behind his back and he stands tall, but he is actually walking behind Athim, even if almost imperceptibly, to offer him respect and show that he isn’t superior to him. He is smiling, too, and his smile only grows when he spots Scarlet at the counter.

Bull and Varric whisper something to each other, then the first roars, letting everyone in the tavern hear him: “And then Solas summoned a giant fireball and the whole group of Venatori surrounding us kneeled on the ground, begging to be spared, and the mage of the group even complimented his magic and…”

“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.” Athim snorts, smirking at the Qunari before turning to Solas, who sighs and blushes, shaking his head at his snickering companions. Dorian and Cassandra have the gall to look completely innocent, while Bull and Varric don’t deny what they are trying to do.

“How was the underground library? Did you like it?” Scarlet asks, rising to kiss her father on the cheek. Nehn takes his hand, squeezing it lovingly, because she knows that he and Solas behaved well and she and Scarlet did well in trusting them.

“I see you found some good books, too! Dorian and Lady Vivienne gave me some incredibly interesting volumes, _vhenan_ , and Scarlet said we can take them to the clan!”

“Are you sure?” he asks his daughter with wide eyes and she laughs, nodding.

“Of course! We have copies of them and I’m sure Keeper Deshanna will find them useful for her lessons.”

“Speaking of lessons…” Dorian starts, curling his mustache with nonchalance. “Solas is _extremely_ skilled in teaching, you know? Scarlet and I once watched him teach a new trick to the young mages in visit here.” He grins at Scarlet, who has gotten all red, probably remembering a very particular detail of that episode. “I remember you complimented the way his fingers moved, my friend.”

“Dorian!” she hisses, but Athim seems unfazed by it for once. He just grunts as he sits down next to his wife, while Solas glares at the Altus and his ears turn pink like Scarlet’s.

“Well, I witnessed his great knowledge just earlier.” Athim says, gratefully accepting the cup of wine Cabot just poured him. “We met two Dalish elves, Cillian of clan Ralaferin and Loranil from Hawen’s clan.”

The companions and Scarlet pale at that, while Nehn gasps and brings her hands to her face, beaming like a star. Everyone suspects the worst, everyone fears the meeting went bad, that Solas was mortified or left in a corner and everyone - except for Scarlet, who has no idea what Loranil feels for her - thinks the young Dalish elf ignited his jealousy and self-deprecation.

“I heard many things about Cillian and his clan! Oh, I had no idea he was here!”

“He is a good fellow.” Athim says with a smile and Dorian and Cassandra exchange a worried look, while Varric desperately thinks of something else good to say about Solas and Bull tries to come up with more extravagant stories.

But then Athim turns to Solas, who is sitting next to Scarlet with a surprisingly pleased expression on his face, and adds: “Solas knows much about the discipline Cillian is studying, so he accepted to teach him and others the ancient elven ways he learned in the Fade.”

Everyone turns to Solas at that and his smile grows, turning a bit timid, but also proud, and his eyes are filled with love when Scarlet cheers and throws her arms around him. It’s a great step in the right direction, she thinks, the perfect way for him to finally have more friends, connect with more people, and let himself go around others.

And the way Athim spoke, clearly glad of what happened and respectful of Solas’ knowledge, means that the old Dalish man is finally changing his mind about the other elf, if not quickly, at least surely and steadily. Nehn is aware of that, too, and she thanks her husband with a discreet kiss on the lips.

“He knows every corner and every shelf of the library, doesn’t he?” Varric intervenes, continuing his and the others’ plan to celebrate Solas and put him under the best light possible. “Chuckles always had a great memory.”

Some playful light twinkles in Athim’s eyes and he hums, before nodding and observing his daughter talk animatedly with the elven apostate; she is talking quickly, excitedly, oozing joy and warmth from every pore and red strand of hair, and Solas looks at her with loving eyes, a hand on her waist, the other on her knee.

“Always so brilliant, always so ready to help.” Dorian continues and it’s true; despite Solas’ aloof manners and his maybe-too-polite smiles, he is also very kind and many people witnessed his gestures of selflessness, when more refugees than usual came to Skyhold and he helped heal them all, or when he personally prepared potions and concoctions for the sick, coughing pilgrims and their children.

“Always eager to learn more.” Cassandra adds, hoping the Dalish appreciate curiosity, and Cole enigmatically says: “He knows much, but now he wants to learn everything about this world. He likes it now. Sniffing the air and thinking it has a good smell, he explores the new woods.”

Athim shoots him an odd glance, thinking that if anyone here knows what Solas’ haunted past is – because he is _sure_ the young man is haunted by something -, that someone might be Cole. Spirits are supposed to know a lot, right? And this one in particular – Compassion, he was told – might indeed reassure him immensely.

“Say, Cole,” he starts, fully turning to the mysterious boy, whose giant hat almost hides his pale face completely, “Solas told me you’re a dear friend and a very special creature. Person.” He clears his throat, not wanting to offend the boy, but Cole looks extremely pleased and happy.

“You’re very dear to my daughter, too.” Athim continues and Cole looks about to burst into an explosion of light and bubbling laughter. His smile is a particularly sweet sight.

“Thank you!” he exclaims and the old Dalish elf can’t help but chuckle at that.

He turns to the others, who are listening intently, and he doesn’t miss Nehn’s confused look. They don’t understand what he’s trying to ask, so he hurries to do so, turning back to Cole and saying:

“You know him well, right? So…”

“You want to know if they’re happy?” Bull interrupts him, scratching his chin. “Man, everyone can see they are!”

“No.” Cole says gently, never looking away from Athim. “You want to know if he will keep making her happy in the future, too.”

“Yes.” Athim’s tone changes suddenly, turning heated, impatient, urgent. He grasps the spirit boy’s wrist, not too strongly to avoid hurting him, but the grip is powerful all the same. The spirit’s skin is cold and dry, maybe too thin, but he tries not to focus too much on that.

“Once this awful war is over, do you know – _can_ you know - what will happen to them?” He glances furtively at Solas and Scarlet, who are still discussing his future lessons and this great opportunity.

Nehn looks about to protest and tell him to stop, but she is Scarlet’s mother and even if she clearly trusts Solas completely, while Athim still wants to be a little cautious, she has every right to worry and expect some enlightenment from a spirit. So she holds her breath and leans closer to Cole from her stool, clasping her hands in a silent prayer to the Creators.

The others are curious, too, included Dorian, who should know that Cole’s abilities can’t look into the future; he knows that and Cassandra knows it as well, but Cole is such a peculiar spirit and there is always a first time for everything and the Fade and its inhabitants are great mysteries that not even the greatest expert – probably not even Solas – can completely explain up to the smallest detail.

And since Cole looks so serious and solemn - a rare event since he usually looks either gloomy and shy or enthusiastic and curious -, they have all the reasons to move closer and wait for his response.

“I don’t know.” he answers in the end. Athim deflates a little at that, but Nehn keeps looking fervently at the spirit boy and he slowly continues: “But if they keep talking like they are doing now, things will be fine.”

“Communication is an important part of a relationship.” Nehn confirms, nodding solemnly, and Cole nods, too, more solemn than her. They look like two elven statues, Athim thinks, full of truth and answers.

The companions briefly redirect their attention elsewhere to discuss what Cole just said – they have been reassured, comforted, and they believe there will be no dark shadows on the horizon for their dear friends, for sweet Scarlet and brilliant Solas, because how could communication ever stop existing in a relationship like theirs? They always talk, they always fix everything by talking, opening up to each other, and revealing their biggest fears to the other.

Athim is humble and so he accepts Cole’s prediction humbly, thanking him, but he’s also stubborn and even if he likes Solas, even if he knows he loves Scarlet a lot and he’s willing to welcome him into the family, he still can feel something isn’t right, like a minuscule, black dot on a white sheet, slowly spreading and showing itself to the world.

He grasps Cole’s shoulders – so bony and sturdy at the same time – and leans even further in until he’s hidden under his hat with him. And then he whispers, locking eyes with the spirit, gazing into his deep, blue irises so full of knowledge and innocence:

“He’s hiding something, isn’t he?”

Cole doesn’t answer, but his silence is answer enough and Athim sees something flicker in his eyes, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation. He tightens his jaw, sets his mouth into a straight, thin line, then pulls away, sheepishly smiling at Nehn, who didn’t hear his question and is fretting over him and the boy.

“Athim, please! What is this about?”

“Nothing. It’s all good now.” He kisses her to apologize, then thanks Cole again, but the spirit boy has become unresponsive and his face – ageless and young at the same time – is thoughtful, as if he’s lost into deep, important considerations. He smiles a little when Nehn talks to him and brushes back the hair from his face, but there is a weight in his posture, now, and Athim feels responsible and guilty for it.

The rest of the day proceeds well. He visits the mage tower and the rest of Skyhold, with its many rooms, nooks, hidden passageways, and doors. He listens to Solas, asks him questions and answers his and a sincere affection for the young man grows in his heart, replacing the silly jealousy and fears he had before.

He doesn’t bother Solas and Scarlet when they kiss or smile at each other; he still tries to catch his daughter’s attention, because he hasn’t seen her for so long and he thinks he deserves to spend more time with her before leaving, but he happily shares the rest of his time with her friends and her boyfriend and soon he’s busier than ever.

Nehn blooms under their daughter’s attention and care; it didn’t look like it before, but Scarlet’s departure from the clan affected her greatly, too, and only now she’s recovering from it, sure that she will be protected and kept safe, respected and loved. She cries on multiple occasions, always out of joy, and Solas becomes a second son to her, so much she asks him to accompany her everywhere and her motherly affection puts a big smile on his face and a nostalgic light in his eyes.

They decide to stay there five more days, accepting Scarlet’s tearful, hopeful offer, and time passes quickly; Athim and Solas talk a lot before falling asleep and he still has some doubts and he doesn’t always understand what the young man is talking about or studying, but he has seen Scarlet’s joy and that’s enough to convince him.

A shard of fear remains stuck in his heart, but he calmly ignores it, preferring to concentrate on Solas’ smile whenever he mentions Scarlet, the light in his eyes whenever he talks about her brilliance and kindness, his confidence as he tries to explain his theories and studies.

Cole hasn’t told him anything else and Athim doesn’t have the courage to insist and ask more, but his instincts are rarely wrong and he observes Solas sleep at night with a serious expression and a quiet acceptance in his troubled heart.

Then, the five days end and he and Nehn stand at the gate of the fortress, holding their crying daughter and reassuring her that everything will be alright, that they will always be there for her.

Five guards – gentle, robust people from all races equipped with well-crafted weapons - are respectfully waiting on the bridge; they will accompany them safely to the Free Marches, ensuring their safe return to clan Lavellan - Scarlet’s orders. Athim is actually grateful for it, because the big majority of Thedas knows about him and Nehn, now, and he doesn’t want anyone to try hurting their daughter through them.

Nehn apparently adopted all her friends, too; Sera is still wary and awkward around them, but she gives them two jars of good, Nevarran honey, stolen from only-Creators-know-where, and she accepts Nehn’s hug with red cheeks and a weird, endearing pout.

Dorian, the Tevinter, actually sheds some tears. He is “our _shem_ son”, Nehn told Athim, and he never dreamed to ask for something like that, but the lad is a good man and he was able to get to know him better and appreciate his humor, kindness, and irony in the past days. Scarlet adores him and he adores Scarlet, so Athim has learned to approve of him, too, and Nehn always seizes the chance to smooch his cheeks and fix the collar of his robes.

And then there are the others; Bull and his Chargers, which Nehn recognized them as his family and treated as such; Cassandra and her pragmatic, but warm manners; Varric and his stories, often revolving around him more than he realizes and admits; Lady Vivienne and her motherly ways; Blackwall and his quiet, humble bravery that Athim admires a lot; Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, each with their own kind of kindness and thoughtfulness; and then Cole and his sweet compassion, accompanied by the secrets he keeps for others.

Solas is the last one they hug and say goodbye to, because they want to do it right and memorize his smile and touch before they go. Nehn holds him tightly and he timidly returns the hug, like a child who isn’t sure his mother wants to be hugged today. But Nehn always accepts hugs and she already loves him greatly, so she pats his back and Solas finally smiles.

“Take care of my _da’adahl_ , yes?” she says, cradling his face in her small hands. He nods, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, and if Nehn misses the scared flicker in his eyes because she has to dry hers, Athim doesn’t and he approaches Solas with a calm, but serious demeanor.

“ _Lethallin_.” he says, pulling him into his arms before pulling back and clasping his shoulders. “Once this war is over, we will wait for you at the clan.”

Something breaks in Solas’ eyes, but he holds his emotions back – or at least tries to – and his only answer is a slow, short nod and the hint of a shaky smile. So up close, Athim is able to glimpse tears in his eyes and his worst fears come back, together with the half-formed certainty that things won’t go as well as everyone is sure of.

He will keep this to himself, though, because he can’t be completely sure and maybe it’s just his paranoia whispering ill things into his head. He saw the joy and love in both Scarlet’s and Solas’ eyes, he saw how happy they are – he can’t keep causing her trouble and pain like he did the first day.

“Watch over Scarlet for us.” he continues and there is a promise written on Solas’ face, now, and he finally speaks, his voice soft and hoarse: “Of course, _hahren_.”

Solas squeezes his arm, then lets him go and steps back to take Scarlet’s right hand. They stand there, under the main gate, with their friends and wave at them as they walk across the bridge with their guards.

“Isn’t he a good man?” Nehn says as they wave back and she’s still sniffling and barely holding back her last tears. “I’m so happy, Athim, so happy! I can’t wait for this wretched war to be over, so they will finally be able to get married.”

“Yes.” He watches his daughter and her mate from afar; he can see the sadness and worry in her stance, in the way she waves her hand, just like she would do when she was little and he had to leave the clan to go hunting with the others and she feared for his wellbeing.

Those memories bring tears to his eyes – he’s afraid of losing her to Corypheus and his mad minions, afraid of seeing her suffer because Solas couldn’t stay, afraid of her discovering what is haunting that man so much, something that can’t be anything good.

He’s scared and he isn’t able to refrain from crying, even if quietly. But Nehn of course notices it – she is always so very sweet and observant, just like their daughter – and her hand holding his gives him strength.

“Don’t worry, _vhenan_.” she says as they resume walking, turning back every ten steps or so. She is still crying, louder than him, and the five soldiers of the Inquisition accompanying them patiently wait a bit far ahead, never complaining, never asking them to hurry.

“We will see her again.” Nehn continues and she makes it sound like a beautiful, certain promise. “I know we will. She will win and she and Solas will visit us at the clan to get married. I can already picture it in my mind.” She giggles, a wet, but cheerful and joyous sound. “I can even picture all her friends sitting around the fire! I want that dear boy Dorian to dance with us.”

“Your imagination is a blessing.” Athim chuckles, kissing her ruffled hair. He turns to watch Scarlet one last time and his heart beats painfully fast in his chest, hope and fear mixed together, a dangerous combination that won’t let him sleep for months.

They slowly leave the bridge and his fear is replaced by sudden surprise – and a bit of alarm – when wolves start howling in the far, snowy distance.

“It’s alright, my lady.” one of the guards, a young dwarven woman with an honest face, says to Nehn when she gasps and looks around. “There are many wolves living near Skyhold, but they never approach the fortress. They are basically harmless.”

“It’s strange.” Nehn chuckles, recovering from her scare. “It’s like they are saying goodbye. Do you think it’s a good omen from the Dread Wolf, _vhenan_?”

“Hm.” Athim grimaces, looking at the majestic Frostback Mountains all around them, as though he could catch a glimpse of the wolves on their rocky, white sides. “I hope so.”

He turns for the last time towards Skyhold and sees that Scarlet, Solas, and the others are still standing by the gate.

They aren’t waving anymore, but he can still recognize their shapes and forms, Solas’ pale face and his sweater fluttering in the cold wind. He’s still holding Scarlet’s hand and Athim clearly sees him press a kiss on her cheek. He can already imagine her red cheeks and shy smile.

Athim abruptly looks away and his hope manages to win over his fears, as the wolves howl louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long fic completed! ( ´ ▽ ` ) It started rather funny and lighthearted and it ends on a sadder, melancholic note. ;_; You can't fool a parent's instincts, after all. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing it and developing Nehn and Athim's personalities - maybe I'll add one or two more chapters focusing on those days spent at Skyhold or even set after Trespasser. Athim's rage would be something to fear. 
> 
> Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Nehn = Joy  
> Athim = Humility
> 
> I am unable to write short fics ;_;
> 
> Also, for those interested, this is my [Scarlet Lavellan](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/scarletlavellan)! I've been thinking about writing a fic like this for a long time and after receiving a request, I finally started it.
> 
> You can already imagine Solas' face.


End file.
